


Robin Hood

by katiecunning404



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broken, Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone's sad, F/M, Hogwarts, Humor, Hurt, Love, PTSD, Recovery, Traumatic Backstory, after-war, eighth year, haters to lovers, i love them, traumatic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiecunning404/pseuds/katiecunning404
Summary: Hermione Granger isn't the same after the war. And neither is Draco Malfoy.Returning to Hogwarts is hard enough, but when Voldemort seems to resurface, Hermione and Draco work together to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.But some wars can't be won.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 20
Kudos: 49





	1. Of Heartbreak and Argument

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> This is my first shot at Harry Potter fanfic, and I hope you love these characters as much as I do!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> <3 Katie

Ron stared at her, the color leaching from his freckled face. “What?” he said.

“I don’t think this is working,” said Hermione, slower. She fought the urge to sprint from the room and run to the comforts of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley downstairs. This was a battle she had to fight on her own.

She’d known for a while now. Their relationship had been tentative at best, never a sure and steady thing. But she’d been willing to take the risk - until Ron had left her with Harry in the middle of the woods. Left her without a care, didn’t listen to her when she tried to ask him to stay. 

Now he gripped the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles whitening on the wood, narrowed gaze burning holes in the carpet. “It  _ is  _ working, it has been working. We’re happy, we’re safe.”

Judging by his tone, he knew the truth, too. “We’ve never been happy,” she said softly, fisting her hands in the hem of her t-shirt. “Whatever we had was weak and...and forced. Deep down, you know this is the right thing.”

“No.” Ron snapped his gaze to her, glaring at the space between her eyes. As if he could will her to agree with him. “This is absolutely not the right thing. We’ve gone through hell and back together, fought side by side. You-” He clamped his lips shut and shook his head, eyes falling back to the floor.

Yes, they had fought together. They had plotted and strategized and, with Harry’s help, won. But they’d lost more than either of them cared to talk about. Even if Hermione could overlook the time he abandoned her, she couldn’t ignore the fact that he wouldn’t talk to her. Not about Fred, or Voldemort, or Bellatrix. In fact, whenever that witch’s name came up in conversation, Ron went absolutely rigid. It took plenty of coaxing on Hermione’s part to get him to calm down.

When Fred had died, Hermione had forced herself to wait. At least until the family had properly grieved, until the young wizard’s body had laid in the ground for almost three months. It became clear that time - even months of it - would never be capable of healing such a gaping wound Fred had left in the household.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”  _ Don’t apologize, don’t apologize.  _ She had nothing to apologize for. “You and Harry are going to accept those Auror positions at the Ministry. I’m going back to Hogwarts,” she added, hoping an icy bath of reality might make him understand.

Ron raked a hand through his red hair, shoulders tensed. He took a few steps closer to her, stabbing the floor with each step, and Hermione fought to stay where she was. Nostrils flared, he said, “I know what this is about.”

She blew out a breath, gripping the strap of the satchel slung over her shoulder. “I told you what this is -”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” He took her shocked expression as affirmation, and his features twisted in a glare. “I knew it,” he muttered, beginning to pace the room. “I should have known all those trips to Diagon Alley weren’t for  _ books _ , were they?”

Had he always been so paranoid? Had jealousy always been his scapegoat when it came to deep conversation? After everything that had happened in the war, it was hard to blame him, but...

“How dare you,” Hermione seethed, her hand finding the doorknob and yanking it open. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing, Ronald. I just wanted to have a nice conversation-”

Ron let out a humorless laugh at that. “A nice conversation about how I’m not good enough for you?”

“I never said that!” She was on the verge of shouting, now, and forced herself to quiet. “This isn’t working - you and me. Maybe for a short time it did, but it isn’t anymore.” As calmly and gently as she could, Hermione said, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me - truly I do. And you know...you know that you’re one of my best friends. But I don’t love you like you need me to.”

She was halfway down the hallway when he called after her. “So everything we did meant nothing to you?” His fiery hair stuck up in peaks around his face, and he jogged to catch up with her. “You’re being selfish. Have you ever thought about my feelings? Whether or not I want this?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Of course I have, and I’m…”  _ Don’t apologize.  _ “...and I think this will be best for both of us.”

Mrs. Weasley was standing in the kitchen when Hermione got down the stairs, Ron a fuming presence behind her. Sitting on the couch, Ginny and Harry both glanced up from their books. They both looked quickly away when they spotted Ron’s expression.

“Where are you going?” he demanded as she swung open the front door. A gust of chilly August wind blew through, goosebumps prickling over her bare legs.

She fixed a cold, dry look on his face. “Home.”

Ron swallowed, straightening his tensed posture. “Don’t go,” he said, voice rasping and soft. A memory came unwarranted to Hermione’s mind. Of when she’d once begged him to stay with them in the woods, begged him to stay with her. 

A thousand smug responses rose to her lips, but she bit them back. She wouldn’t do that to him. Not when she knew firsthand how much it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said before walking out of the house, the satchel thumping at her hip. She broke the promise she made to herself - she apologized. If that was what it took to ease Ron’s conscience, then it was a sacrifice well worth making. 

Though Hermione had never been in love with Ron - not in the way that truly mattered - he was still her friend. Like he had said, they had fought together and won together. Those memories couldn’t simply fade into nothingness.

But winning a war hadn’t made up for all the battles that had been lost along the way. 


	2. Of Clouds and Encounters

By the time Hermione apparated to Diagon Alley, the sky had opened up. Sheets of rain cascaded over her wild, unruly hair, and her t-shirt and shorts were soaked through in seconds.

Too late, she realized she’d forgotten to grab her trunk in her huff out the door. She’d already purchased all the necessary books and equipment for her studies, and packed whatever clothes and leisure books she could fit. Perhaps Ginny would bring it with her to the King’s Cross station next week. Hermione would have to send her an owl.

At least she had Bellatrix’s wand, tucked in the pocket of her shorts. It had adapted well to her, working as if it were her own. Hermione didn’t let herself think about the twisted nature of the thing - how the wand in her possession was used to scar her forearm. There were a lot of things she didn’t let herself think about concerning that scar.

She ducked into the nearest shop she could find, still dripping wet. After casting a quick drying charm, Hermione glanced around the place. And felt her heart drop.

She’d unwittingly entered Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

Hexed candies and potions filled the room, stacked on shelves reaching to the ceilings, displayed on spiral cases scattered throughout the shop. Wizards and witches of all ages were laughing and giggling at the jokes, swarming the shop as First Years swarmed the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

All Hermione could see was Fred. The lack of him. She often wondered if he would return as a ghost - it seemed as though the prankster wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to play jokes on people for eternity. Then again, Fred had loved his family. Maybe he had passed into the Afterworld, hoping to see his family again.

She spun on her heel, desperate to get out of the store, but she moved too slowly.

“Hermione!” George’s face was split in a wide grin as she turned to smile at him. He didn’t give her time to respond before wrapping her in a big hug. After Fred’s death, George could never seem to stop hugging people. “How’ve you been? How’s ol’ Ronnykins?”

Hermione squeezed him tightly and released him. “We broke up,” she said in the cheeriest voice she could manage. “Don’t worry - we’re still friends,” she added before he could say a word. Better a pretty lie than a hideous truth.

George only gasped loudly and ruffled her hair. “Do I need to go back there and drop a morsel of U-No-Poo in his coffee?” he whispered loudly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, thank you. I was the one who did the breaking up,” she said, her voice happier than she felt. With George, it was easy to fake happiness. Perhaps because he did it so well.

“Merlin, Hermione, I’m asking polite questions and you go on rattling about your relationship.” He crossed his arms, feigning offense. “I’m sorry to say I’m not a therapist - though I did consider the job at one point before Mum smacked some sense into me. Now, are you here to buy something or did you just come to pour out your heart to little ol’ me?” he asked, bringing the back of his hand to his chin with a roguish wink.

Hermione snorted and shoved him gently away. “Please. I came to get out of the rain, but clearly I’m not wanted.” With a mocking flick of her hair, she spun dramatically towards the door.

“If you don’t move fast enough, the enchanted door will hit you on the way out,” said George from behind her.

Not willing to take the risk, she darted quickly through the door. It slammed behind her, cutting off George’s cackling.

She’d almost forgotten about the rain before it drenched her again. The urge to whip out her wand and curse George with nasty charm was almost overwhelming. She considered summoning an umbrella, but the cool rain was almost a relief. It took her mind off things.

Instead, Hermione raised her head and made her way to Flourish and Blott’s, sticking as close to the edge of the street as she could to lessen the rainfall. Did she have enough books? Of course. Did she want more? Obviously. She had told Ron she was going home. A bookstore was the closest thing to home she had.

A crowd had gathered in front of the bookshop, open umbrellas hovering over their heads. Shouts sounded in the center of the people, a mix of fearful and threatening tones. Hermione frowned at the group, trying to make sense of the commotion. There were no signings going on today that she was aware of, but she could be mistaken. And where were the Aurors? The security team assigned to Diagon Alley?

As she approached, the hum of the crowd grew quiet, their eyes snapping to her. The ones at the front of the line let her pass through the doors, eyes wide and mouth agape. There were some perks to fame, Hermione realized. 

“What’s going on?” she asked firmly, her voice carrying over the crowd.

No one answered. They shuffled their feet, gazes darting from Hermione to the stone road, but none of them responded.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered and shoved her way through the mass of bodies. Most of them cleared a path for her, but some remained stationary. She felt glares searing through her water-matted curls.

At the sight of the lone wizard standing in the center of the group, Hermione’s breath left her in a shocked  _ whoosh _ . Draco Malfoy stood in the center of the crowd, platinum blonde hair plastered to his forehead, dripping with rainwater. He wasn’t sneering as he usually did. In fact, he looked...resigned. His robes were askew, and there was a cut across his cheek, but he somehow assumed an almost regal posture. Had he grown a foot since she’d last seen him?

He saw her, and his jaw tightened. “Granger.” His voice was almost regretful. No doubt he didn’t like being seen in such a state of disarray, especially not by Hermione. 

Her response was instinctive. “Malfoy.” 

The realization of what was going on hit her like a freight train. She whirled on the wizard closest to her, grabbing his robes and yanking him towards her. “What is going on here?” she asked, tone almost vicious.

“He-he shoved someone. Pushed them right onto the street.” The man spoke in a warbly voice, words all strung together in a stuttering sentence.

Hermione frowned. Malfoy might be a bully, but after everything that had gone on during the war, all that his family had suffered...Malfoy wasn’t that stupid.

She glanced over her shoulder, trying to read Malfoy’s expression. His grey eyes flashed as if in warning. Warning of what?

“All of you - go.” Hermione leveled a steady glare around the sea of robes. Mutterings of annoyance broke out among the people, only a few on the outskirts of the crowd obeying her instructions. Scoffing at their stubbornness, she marched towards Malfoy.

The wizards and witches drew in a collective breath as she balled the billowing fabric of Malfoy’s sleeve in her fist. She dragged him behind her, forcing her way through the barrier of people. “Out of the way, please,” she said firmly. With her free hand, she gripped Bellatrix’s wand at the waistline of her shorts. She didn’t want to use it, but if these people wouldn’t make a path…

Eventually, they broke free of the crowd. Malfoy’s robe was damp in her hand, but Hermione didn’t let go as she looked to Malfoy. He was staring at her quizzically, his jaw set. 

“Come on.” She tugged him through the entrance of Flourish and Blott’s. Surprisingly, he didn’t object.

Both of them were dripping wet as they passed the rows upon rows of books, but Hermione didn’t dare stop. His attackers - justified or not - might consider following them into the store.

She led him past the main part of the shop, filled with books and quills and journals, to the rooms in the back. As a regular at the store, Madam Trussey, the owner, had granted Hermione her own reading/studying room. It had proved itself useful during semesters when Ron and Harry simply hadn’t let her study in peace.

Malfoy was silent as they ducked under the curtain that separated the room from the rest of the store. Silent as Hermione waved him to sit down at one of the chairs at the desk in the corner of the little room.

“Now,” she sat on the bed in the opposite corner, crossing her legs underneath her, “what happened?”

His pale mouth curved into an ingenuous smirk. “And here I thought you just wanted to snog me.”

Before everything, Hermione might have blushed. But she knew he was only avoiding the question. She drew Bellatrix’s wand and cast a swift drying charm over both their clothes, then a warming charm to counteract the effects of the downpour outside. 

Malfoy’s gaze caught on the wand. His mouth hardened even further. 

“Answer me, Malfoy.” She crossed her arms and leaned back on the wall, one eyebrow raised. She would wait for him. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

The wizard sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes. “I bumped into a customer,” he said in a voice barely loud enough to be considered audible. “They saw who I was and...well, one thing led to another.”

Hermione twirled a strand of hair around her finger absentmindedly. “Did they give you that?” she asked, gesturing to his face.

Grimacing, Malfoy ran a thumb over the cut as if he’d forgotten about it. “Among other things.”

“And the Aurors? Where did they run off to?”

“You really think they’re going to aid a Malfoy?” he said drily, tone edging on irritated. “Look, all I did was bump into someone. An honest mistake. I even tried to help them up.”

Hermione stared at him, at a loss for words. In that moment, Malfoy sounded almost eager. Eager to prove himself innocent, to explain that he wasn’t a villain, that he’d only been trying to do the right thing. 

For a second, she let herself imagine that he had always been like that. Eager to help rather than destroy. What would have changed? Would Malfoy have behaved any differently in the war, or even just in class?

“The Malfoys have always been largely respected in the magical community,” she said.

Malfoy’s brows flicked up, the corners of his mouth curving down. “Yes, before my father was revealed to be a Death Eater when the Dark Lord was defeated. Or did your sharp-as-a-whip mind forget that little detail?”

“I didn’t  _ forget, _ ” she protested, sitting upright. “I was only thinking out loud.” Something she often did. Harry and Ron regularly pointed out that she talked too much, but sometimes, one had to speak one’s thoughts in order to stop thinking about them.

Malfoy’s hair had dried in a strange style, and he tried to smooth it down. “My father and his wealth and power were the only things that brought on such a reputation,” Malfoy went on. “Now that he’s gone, his associates look to me. Expecting me to have that same power - rooted in deceit and cruelty. Expecting me to fail.”

“You’ve been doing marvelously so far,” said Hermione with a sickly sweet smile. “Tormenting all those children at Hogwarts? Outstanding work. Your  _ associates _ would be proud.”

Malfoy’s lips thinned, and he averted his gaze to the groves in the table. His fingers followed the lines in the wood, moving thoughtfully, each motion carefully calculated.

Huffing her annoyance, Hermione grabbed a book from one of the shelves on the wall of her studying room and began to read. All the books had already been purchased, so the store wasn’t losing any business. 

It wasn’t long before Malfoy spoke. “Bored of me already, Granger?”

She glazed lazily up from the pages. “I assume you don’t want to go back out into the rain. And the angry people waiting for your return,” she said, propping her feet up on the headboard and crossing her ankles as she laid back on the bed. “There’s a shelf of books behind you. Feel free to grab one and stay as long as you need.”

Malfoy looked at her as if she’d grown grotesque wings. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. And if you keep interrupting my reading, I’ll revoke my invitation and let the rain wash you away.” Hermione set Bellatrix’s wand on the bed beside her - a reminder of what hexes she might cast on him if he tried something. 

But Malfoy, after fixing her with a strange look, selected a book from the shelf -  _ The Complete Guide to Ministry-Registered Spells -  _ and cracked it open over his lap. Begrudgingly, she admitted he looked attractive when he was reading. A skill she didn’t possess.

Content not to draw any more answers from him, Hermione settled back into her reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm LIVING for their interactions. And George....*sobs uncontrollably*
> 
> Drop a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> <3 Katie


	3. Of Tea and Friends

A few hours later, Malfoy closed the book and carefully returned it to its proper place on the shelf. Hermione pretended not to notice how he took special care not to crease the binding or wrinkle the pages.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him stand from his chair and move towards the curtained exit. He glanced back at her, as if he wanted to say something.

“Come back whenever you need,” she said, her eyes staying on the book.

A curt nod was the only response she got, and then Malfoy was gone.

When she was sure he had left, Hermione swung her feet off the headboard and closed the book, mind racing. She’d just seen Draco Malfoy being pushed around by a group of angry wizards. Not only that - she’d  _ saved  _ him. Saved him and brought him back to a small room in the back of the bookstore.

He had talked to her - really and truly talked to her. In the beginning, he’d tried to avoid her questions, but it seemed the more she pressed, the more he spoke. The more he revealed.

She wondered how many people Malfoy had to speak to if he was telling her such personal things. What of his mother? For a brief moment, Hermione considered his friends, but he had no friends. After the war, all his friends had either been killed or imprisoned.

Was Harry his friend? He had testified in favor of Malfoy and probably prevented him from following his father to Azkaban, but Harry would have done that for anyone. 

Hermione tapped an absent finger on the leather cover of her book, lips pursed. Malfoy had to be as affected by the war as the rest of them. No matter what side he had fought for, war was war. Watching people die in front of you - friends, family, even complete strangers - had a kind of effect over one’s mind that twisted their thoughts. More of an effect than Hermione wanted to admit. 

She replaced the book and considered simply falling asleep. She’d spent many weekends here, when things with Voldemort weren’t too crazy. Madam Trussey had never been disturbed by that fact. On the contrary, the witch seemed to enjoy having company in the little shop. 

Out of her satchel, Hermione drew out a blanket and pillow and placed them on the bed. Muggles looking at the bag wouldn’t think such large things would fit in it, but she’d cast an expanding charm on the inside. She could fit most anything inside it, and she’d stuffed nearly all her possessions inside. All that was left of her things was locked away in the trunk she’d left at the Burrow.

The curtains whispered behind her, and Hermione snatched Bellatrix’s wand from the desk and whirled on the intruder, expression fierce. Madam Trussey gave a sharp cry and stumbled back, the teapot and cup in her hands wobbling. Hermione grabbed her elbow before the witch could fall.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said, pulling the stout witch to her feet and slipping the wand away. 

Madam Trussey only gave a gentle laugh. “Quite alright, my dear, quite alright. You gave me a start, but no damage done. I’ve just come to offer you some tea - it’s very late.” Her expression was one of motherly concern, and Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of Molly Weasley.

She slumped on one of the wooden chairs, a shamed hand over her face. “Thank you, that’s very kind,” she said as Madam Trussey set the teacup down and began to pour. Chamomile - her favorite.

Hermione felt absolutely terrible. Jumpy - she was so jumpy now. Back in the Burrow, a door would slam and she would be shooting to her feet. Every unknown sound made her heart leap in her chest, and Bellatrix’s wand had been yanked out more times than she could count. It always led to nothing. 

The tea was cool enough to raise to her lips, and she took a sip. “How late is it?” She often lost track of time while reading, though she couldn’t imagine the time had sped by any faster with Malfoy sitting across from her.

The witch’s mouth curved in a knowing smile. “It’s nearly midnight, dear. That Malfoy boy had to find me in order to even get out of the shop.”

At that, Hermione choked on her tea. Madam Trussey rubbed her back as she coughed, doubling over in her chair.

“Midnight?” she managed. At Madam Trussey’s nod, she set her teacup down and shook her head. “I didn’t realize it was so late, I do apologize.” It’d been early afternoon when she’d left the Burrow - had she really been with Malfoy for so long?

Madam Trussey hummed, wrinkled eyes sparkling with a kind of triumphant mischief. “Draco Malfoy, hmm? I thought you and that Weasley boy…”

“It’s not what you think,” Hermione sputtered, then scolded herself for sounding so out of sorts. “Malfoy got himself in trouble, and I offered him the room to hide until the crowd left.”

“So that’s what was going on outside.” Madam Trussey made a sort of tsking sound. “That poor boy. He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.” she added.

Hermione made a strangled sound. “I’m not looking out for him, I just...couldn’t sit back and watch an injustice occur. Any rationally-minded witch would have done the same.” She took a thoughtful sip of her tea, making sure to swallow it properly this time.

Madam Trussey threw her hands up in surrender, coming to lean against the desk and peer down at Hermione. “What of the Weasley boy?”

“I broke it off.” Hermione took in a steadying breath as Madam Trussey’s green eyes went wide. “It wasn’t working. He wouldn’t talk to me about...anything important, really. And he left me when I needed him most.” 

The witch tucked a piece of graying hair behind her ear, smiling comfortingly. “I understand,” she said, taking Hermione’s hand in hers. “There are some things that cannot be fixed with time. I’m only glad you ended it before it got out of hand.”

Though she was grateful for Madam Trussey’s words, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d chosen the worst time to do it. “I bet Ginny and Mrs. Weasley are furious with me. Harry, too. I broke Ron’s heart and left in the same day. And Merlin, if he finds out I spent the entire afternoon and evening with Draco Malfoy-”

“Then he’ll get over it. He’s almost a man,” Madam Trussey said, frowning. “He should be able to understand that nothing happened.”

“It’s Ron,” said Hermione with a blank expression. “He’ll get jealous - he always does.”

Madam Trussey snorted. “He sounds insecure.”

“Of course he’s insecure, and every time I try to tell him not to be, he just...ignores me.” Hermione placed her teacup back on the desk, pushing any thought of Ron out of her mind. “But it doesn’t matter, because it’s over now. I have nothing more to worry about with him.”

“Let’s hope that’s true.” Madam Trussey went over to the bed and began fluffing the pillow, tucking in the blanket. Hermione knew from experience not to bother her. The witch seemed to enjoy picking up after and caring for others. It was a kindness Hermione knew she would never be able to repay.

“Malfoy really was just reading,” she reiterated. 

“Knowing you, I don’t doubt it. But you must be careful. If the press catches word of you and Draco spending time together in a private room…” Madam Trussey didn’t have to finish the sentence for Hermione to catch her meaning.

“Thank you for understanding,” said Hermione. “I’ll be careful.” 

Madam Trussey was halfway out the door when she turned and said, “Goodnight, Hermione. I’m glad to see you again.”

“Me too,” she called at the witch’s retreating figure. That night, Hermione went to sleep with a smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are really short, but bear with me.
> 
> Things are going to get interesting ;)
> 
> <3 Katie


	4. Of Rings and Intruders

Diagon Alley was buzzing with life when Hermione left Flourish and Blott’s.

It was understandable - after all, it was the last weekend before classes at Hogwarts began again. The rain had gone, and England was all sun and blue skies again. All the last minute shoppers were making the rounds through all the necessary stores, buying potion sets and crisp new robes. Hermione, on the other hand, was grabbing lunch at one of the nearby cafes.

She didn’t make it three steps inside the doors before the entire shop went silent. Their gazes weighed heavily on her, and Hermione gripped Bellatrix’s wand. Was it wrong for her to find comfort in the wand that tortured her? Oh well. She could figure that out later.

Doing her best to ignore the people’s open stares, she approached the restaurants counter warily. “I need a tomato and mozzarella panini and a butterbeer. To go, please,” she added with a pointed glance at the onlookers.

The cafe worker seemed to be equally starstruck, but he smiled nonetheless. “Of course. One moment, Miss. Granger.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

The second she stepped away from the counter, wizards and witches were swarming her. “What is your relationship with Draco Malfoy?” asked one. “Are you and Ron Weasley still together?” another asked. “How has he taken the news of the affair?”

Despite herself, Hermione’s pulse began to pound in her ears, her breath coming in short bursts. The questions didn’t stop, and neither did the Quick Quills shoved in her face. Why were they attacking her? Why wouldn’t they just leave her be?

Too much. It was too much. She wanted to go back to Flourish and Blott’s. She wanted to go home.

Bellatrix’s wand was in the air before Hermione knew what she was doing.

“Enough,” she shouted. Panting, she watched as the crowd’s faces paled, followed their stares to the wand brandished in her grasp. As quickly as she’d raised it, Hermione slipped it back into her pocket. 

She swallowed, glancing from face to face with a panicked expression. No doubt one of the many reporters had captured the moment. A moment of fear, of weakness. Dread gripped her stomach in an icy fist.

She had to get out of here. Before she did something else foolish.

“Your...your order, Miss. Granger.”

It took every ounce of self control not to startle at the worker’s words. Hermione managed a tight smile as she accepted the paper bag and drink the wizard held out to her, unmistakable fear coating his polite voice. 

She, too, would be afraid if an acclaimed witch had threatened an entire cafe full of people with a dark witch’s wand.

As quickly as she could, Hermione dropped a few Sickles and Knuts on the counter and strode out of the cafe. Even the warlocks in the streets scrambled out of her way as she stalked passed the shops.  _ Don’t look at them _ , she warned herself.  _ Don’t let them see your face. _

Because if they did, she knew they would see brokenness. They would see confusion and fear and panic. None of the things one would expect of a hero. None of the things one  _ should  _ expect of a hero.

After all the politics of the war had finally died down, McGonagall had advised all three of them to seek professional counselling. Ron had outright refused, saying a stranger would have no more insight to offer than his friends and family would. Harry, for a time, had considered it. But he was so hunted by the press that giving out information about his personal life - even to a therapist - was an immense risk.

Hermione had also refused therapy. She knew exactly what was wrong with her - had read enough books and learned enough about symptoms and mental diseases to understand what was wrong with her own mind. But understanding only went so far, she was learning.

When she got to Hogwarts next week, everything would be better. She would be so focused on her studies that she’d be distracted from the wreckage of her mind. Bodies were incredibly complex and self-healing, magic or no magic. Perhaps hers would piece itself back together.

Flourish and Blott’s was filled with warlocks when she arrived, and Hermione did her best to pay them no heed as she hurried past. Even when one called her by name - a phenomenon of fame that Hermione hadn’t completely gotten used to - she kept her head down. 

Home - she was almost home.

She shoved away the curtain, and her grip on Bellatrix’s wand tightened. Malfoy tore his gaze away from the book in his hands and, upon seeing her expression, shot to his feet. “Something happened.” His voice was clipped. Restrained.

It wasn’t a question, but Hermione nodded. Shame threatened to redden her face when she realized she hadn’t changed since yesterday. Hadn’t even brushed her hair.

She didn’t want to talk about what had happened with him. He would only tease her - sneer at her fear. Clenching her jaw, she lowered herself to the carpeted floor and opened the warm paper bag, keeping her features as neutral as she could manage.

Malfoy put his book down on the desk. His robe had been shed and hung over the other chair, displaying the white dress shirt and black trousers he wore. Had his shoulders gotten broader? It sure looked like it. And without the rain, his hair had been combed back from his face. Hermione found herself missing the wildness it had held the day before.

His movements were slow and careful, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. “It wasn’t my intention to intrude,” he said softly. “I had an altercation at Madam Malkin’s Robes and thought it best to come here. If you need me to leave-”

“No.” Hermione reached in the bag and pulled out her paper-wrapped sandwich, trying to calm her racing pulse. “No, it’s...it’s alright.” She met his gaze, surprised to find worry flickering in his gray eyes. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have brought another meal.”

The ghost of a smile graced his mouth, and Malfoy sat back down. “I’ll pretend not to be offended.”

Hermione found it hard not to gape. He was teasing her. And not in a cruel, malicious sort of way. His tone was almost friendly. 

The book from yesterday still sat on her unmade bed, and she pulled it off. She was surprised Malfoy hadn’t made some cutting remark about her messy room. He just sat quietly at the desk, reading with a tranquil expression.

Hermione’s attention switched between her food and the book until the sandwich was gone and the butterbeer had been reduced to an empty cup. 

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” asked Malfoy, his eyes not leaving the page.

She shrugged. “Why are you sitting in a chair?”

At that, he glanced up. Amusement passed over his face. “Surely a chair - a tool  _ made  _ for sitting - is far more comfortable than the hard ground.”

Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “You won’t know until you’ve tried,” she said.

For a moment, Hermione thought Malfoy might snort and keep reading. Instead, the wizard shot her an equally challenging look and lowered himself off the chair. 

He scooted on his hands, pushing backwards until his shoulders hit one of the table legs. “There,” he said, the hint of triumph tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now I’m trying.”

Back braced on the opposite wall, Hermione made an approving sound and returned to her book, legs crossed underneath her. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on her face a beat too long before he followed her example.

A few moments passed in silence, but Hermione’s curiosity couldn’t be satisfied. She slammed her book shut and threw it on her bed. Malfoy’s attention snapped to her. 

“What sort of altercation were you involved in?” she asked, hands clasped in her lap.

He tilted his head, but put down his book. “The sort I’m sure you found waiting for you at the cafe. The sort where they bombard you with questions until you panic or you leave. I’ve gotten quite good at leaving,” he added shortly.

“I hadn’t expected it to be so...crazy.” Hermione raked a hand through her hair, thinking. 

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you hide out at your boyfriend’s house all summer,” said Malfoy.

She fixed him with a hard glare. “Is that what you truly think of me? That I hide behind Ron and Harry?” Hermione didn’t wait for a response. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I broke up with Ron. And he and Harry are my friends,  _ not  _ my bodyguards. I can stand up for myself, but it’s incredibly selfish and ignorant of you to assume that I would cower and wait for everything to blow over. I have a responsibility to the entire magical community - one that I put on  _ myself _ . No one forced me into helping them. I did it because I wanted to. Does no one understand that? Do you all see me as a helpless damsel in need of rescuing?”

She huffed and slumped against the wall, her arms folded protectively over her chest. Malfoy’s face had brightened, though Hermione couldn’t imagine why. She’d been close to shouting at him.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said gently. “I only meant that you haven’t been in public in a long time. You haven’t experienced all this attention yet, and it can be overwhelming. And I understand why you did what you did. I understand the responsibility you feel. As for whether we all see you as a helpless damsel...I can’t speak for everyone. Though if you’d like help conducting a poll to find the answer, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Hermione snorted. “I don’t think I’d want to learn the answer.” His hands were splayed on the carpet on either side of his body, and she took the opportunity to study the ring on his left hand. “You didn’t tell me you were engaged, Malfoy.”

He glanced at the ring - the simple band of silver - and his mouth turned down. “It’s not mine,” he said. 

“Your father’s?” Malfoy’s averted gaze told her she’d guessed correctly. And that he didn’t want to speak of it.

“What do you think would have happened?” he asked after a beat of silence. “If Voldemort hadn’t existed, if there were no Death Eaters or rivalries?” His eyes found hers again, and Hermione saw the openness in them. The intelligence that she, in different circumstances, might have found attractive.

Hermione drew one of her knees to her chest, resting her head on her forearm. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “We would have had a fairly boring childhood.”

“Boring, but calm,” he pointed out.

She huffed a noiseless laugh. “Boring, but calm,” she agreed. 

What would have happened if Harry hadn’t been cursed? If there had been no prophecy, no great villain to defeat? Hermione didn't want to think about it. Didn’t want to let her imagination wander to places that didn’t and couldn’t exist. Hope could be as much a poison as it was a medicine.

Malfoy’s throat bobbed, and his stare focused on the shelf of books beside Hermione. “Do you think...do you think we could have been friends?”

She fought the shock coursing through her body at his words. Friends? “Would you have truly wanted to be friends with me?” she asked, not trusting her voice to say anything more without giving away her surprise.

Malfoy shrugged, forcing aloofness. “Maybe in another world, Granger.” His cocky grin was as fake as George’s.

Teasing remarks died in her throat. She and the boy across from her...they weren’t so different as she might have originally believed. Both child soldiers with scars from a war they were forced to fight. A war neither of them wanted.

“If it’s so bad in public, why do you come out here?” asked Hermione, trying to direct the conversation down a lighter path.

Malfoy leaned down on his side, propped up by one elbow. His other hand traced nameless shapes in the carpet. “My mother, mostly. She sends me on the errands she’s too scared to make on her own. Not that I blame her,” he added hurriedly, as if Hermione might take the chance to make fun of Nicasia. “It’s bad enough for me, but it’s worse for her.”

The absolute injustice of it all made Hermione’s skin crawl. “I shouldn’t have stayed in the Burrow,” she said, more to herself than Malfoy.

But the boy shook his head, a sad smile playing over his mouth. “We all have to do what’s best for us. Individually. One thing isn’t going to work for everyone.”

“How is being tormented in public best for you?” she blurted, an inexplicable sense of anger coursing through her body as she narrowed her focus on his reaction.

“This is my life,” he said, his smirk tight. “There’s nothing anyone can do to change that. Either I get used to it or I run from it. And I’d rather not become any more of a coward than I already am.”

Though it made her uneasy, Hermione respected his choice. Lucius had the opposite effect on his son as he might have planned. Malfoy was using his father as an example of what  _ not  _ to do. He wasn’t running from his mistakes. Rather, he turned and faced them - head on.

Across from her, Malfoy let his elbow fall out from under him, and his stomach hit the ground, his arms spread on either side of his head.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

His eyes were closed, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled by his cheek pressed to the carpet. “You were right, Granger. The ground is far more comfortable than a chair.”

Shaking her head in a mix of annoyance and amusement, Hermione got to her feet. The bed squeaked as she sat on its edge, her head falling forward. She was exhausted. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a smart idea to stay up so late reading the night before.

“You can’t stay in here forever,” she said. Malfoy didn’t move. He looked rather comfortable sprawled over the carpet, his body stretched from the desk to the base of her bed. “When my studies start up again, Madam Trussey isn’t going to let you back here anymore.”

Malfoy muttered something she couldn’t quite make out. Then, “For a genius, you’re rather dense. Did it ever occur to you that I might be going to Hogwarts, too?”

It hadn’t, but Hermione wasn’t about to tell him that. “You’re not worried about what the students might say against you?” she asked tentatively.

“Can’t be any worse than what their parents have already said,” he muttered, eyes still closed. “Apparently, some people don’t want me there. Shocker, I know.”

Hermione tapped Bellatrix’s wand thoughtfully on her temple. “Wonder how many Eighth Years are going to be there. I can’t imagine there will be many.”

Malfoy made a half-hearted grunt of agreement. Rolling her eyes, Hermione picked up her book from among her rumpled blankets. She wouldn’t kick him out just because he was falling asleep. After all, where did he have to go except a magical world that despised him and an empty manor? And he wasn’t being rude or irritable. In fact, he was acting rather...pleasant. Kind.

Hermione couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

A few minutes later, she sensed his breathing deepening, growing slower and steadier. She ignored the urge to look at him, forcing herself to focus on the words of her novel. It was an easy read, a political thriller exploring the possibility of werewolves being involved in the Ministry. For some reason, though, it didn’t hold her attention. Her mind was filled to the brim with intrusive thoughts, of unanswered questions.

Hermione gave up reading and curled on her side, facing Malfoy’s sleeping form. It wasn’t long before she’d fallen asleep, images of Lucius Malfoy and his impressionable son dancing through her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang Hermione, go off.
> 
> <3 Katie


	5. Of Bats and Pastries

When she woke, Malfoy was gone.

It took Hermione a moment to peel herself off the bed, to smooth out the especially tangled clumps in her hair. She drew a brush from her satchel and began to comb it, glancing around the room as she did.

Malfoy’s book was sitting on the desk, a bookmark sticking out from between its pages. Upon closer examination, Hermione found that it wasn’t a bookmark - it was a scrap of newspaper clipping.

Lucius Malfoy stared at her through the picture, vicious expression unchanging as his mouth opened and closed, probably threatening the Aurors holding each of his arms. The headline read “Death Eater Responsible for Hundreds of Deaths Finally Sentenced”. She couldn’t read any further than a few lines, but she caught the jist of it. Lucius Malfoy - serving three life sentences in Azkaban.

Hermione replaced the clipping in the proper spot - between a page on Animagi and another on the significance of giants - and slipped the book back on her shelf. If Malfoy was to come back, he’d know where to find it.

Would he return? Maybe tomorrow, but probably not later today. She studied the room, wondering whether or not it would be worth casting a few cleaning charms. Then she decided she didn’t care.

Two days. It would be two days before Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express and left for Hogwarts. She could hardly contain her excitement. There was no one in particular that she wanted to see, but she looked forward to the vast library, the beautiful grounds, the incredible food. 

And Hermione couldn’t deny the temptation of power when she arrived. As an Eighth Year, she’d be one of the oldest students there, and as Harry Potter’s best friend, she would be revered as a war hero. Nausea clenched her stomach at that.

Though the idea of power was tempting, she didn’t want to be revered. She wanted to be left alone with her studies and her tangled web of thoughts. If she was to move on from everything that had occurred, everything she’d witnessed and bled for, Hermione would need to be alone. She couldn’t focus on another person - not now, not for a long time.

Was that the reason she had broken up with Ron? Because she needed time?

No, Hermione decided. If that was the reason, then she would be looking forward to seeing him again. Looking forward to the moment when she could heal from her scars and leap into his arms. 

No, she’d broken up with Ron because they weren’t right for each other, because he had left her. It had nothing to do with the aftermath of the war.

She glanced at the clock on the wall above her bed. It was nearly eight o’clock at night - the time Madam Trussey started closing up. Hermione slipped out of the room, relieved to see that there were barely any customers.

Madam Trussey was organizing receipts when Hermione approached. “What can I do?” she asked as pleasantly as she could manage.

“If you could go feed the enchanted volumes in the seventh aisle, that would be marvelous,” Madam Trussey said smoothly, marking parchment as she spoke. “You’ll find the bats and mice in the back corner by the ink pots.”

“Will do.” The first time she’d fed the books, it had been a strange experience. After all, she’d spent most of her life in Muggle bookstores, where the craziest thing she’d seen was a naked man singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the horror section. Books with teeth were entirely foreign.

Swinging the box of live animals down off the shelf, Hermione side-stepped around a First or Second Year looking over the selection of novels on the lower levels. She was a pretty girl, with dainty features, angled eyes, shiny black hair. Mercifully, the girl paid her no heed.

For a moment, Hermione wished she could go back to those simple days. When war was a thing of fiction and her biggest problem was the assignment she’d fallen behind on. 

Shaking the thought from her head, she continued on to aisle seven. There was no use in thinking up “what if”s. Not if she wanted to move forward.

The books were growling when she arrived, their snarls turning to excited whines as she approached. Hermione threw one of the plump mice at her favorite one -  _ A Wizard's Guide to Romanian Mandrakes.  _ It quickly gobbled it up.

She made the rounds throughout the aisle until her basket was empty, and the sound of crunching bones and tang of fresh blood stained the air. Nose scrunched in distaste, Hermione made to return to the counter before she heard the  _ thump thump  _ coming from the window.

Peering into the gloom, she made out the silhouette of a small owl bumping repeatedly into the pane, his short feathers rustling in the wind. “Pigwidgeon?” 

She whipped out Bellatrix’s wand and cast a disappearing charm over the window, counteracting it when the clumsy owl fluttered into the shop. Tucking the wand behind her ear, Hermione swiped the owl out of the air before one of the books could mistake it for food.

Pigwidgeon pecked at her fingers as she pried the note from his talons. It was addressed to her, and judging by the handwriting, Ginny had written it. At least it wasn’t a Howler.

She set Pig on her shoulder and walked to the main lobby of Flourish and Blott’s, putting the now empty box of animals back on the shelf. The seal broke easily, and Hermione held her breath as she opened the parchment.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I hoped you would return today, but I guess you need more time. Everyone misses you. Ron especially, though I know he won’t admit it. Mum says you’re welcome to return whenever you’d like, and I had to stop Harry from tracking you down. _

_ If you think we all hate you for what you did, you’re wrong. I suppose we’re just confused. After all, the whole thing seemed a little out of nowhere, but I’m not one to judge. Honestly, I miss you. A lot. It’s not fun being the only girl surrounded by boys. I guess Mum counts, but you know she doesn’t talk much anymore. _

_ Take your time writing back, and if you don’t, I’ll bring your trunk with me to the station.  _

_ See you soon! _

_ ~ Ginny _

Hermione gently refolded the letter, unease weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach. Unease and guilt. Because she didn’t want to respond to the letter. Didn’t want to talk to Ginny, or Ron, or anybody. It didn’t feel genuine anymore. Nothing about her felt genuine.

She had saved Hogwarts, defeated Voldemort, and become one of the most powerful witches in the magical community. But she didn’t feel as happy as she should. In fact, she felt rather empty. Life didn’t seem as colorful and beautiful as it once had. Now...it was something dark. A new danger she had to survive.

Ginny and Ron and Harry...they couldn’t understand. Didn’t understand. Everytime she started rambling about the Dark Lord, the possibilities of another Horcrux or an uncaptured Death Eater - worries that often plagued her mind - they calmed her down. Told her to go rest, or take a nap, eat some chocolate.

They didn’t understand that Hermione’s worries couldn’t be ignored. Not until she found the true answer, not until she was absolutely sure her ideas were ridiculous.

That’s what she hoped Hogwarts would cure. Calculating arithmetic and exploring different potion ingredients would be a better use of her time than obsessing over the details of the Death Eater cases, examining the court scripts until her eyes burned of fatigue. 

She had to get out of the current of paranoia before it dragged her into its depths. Before she became unsavable.

Standing in the middle of the bookstore, Pigwidgeon pecking through her hair, Hermione wasn’t entirely convinced Hogwarts was the right solution to her problem. But she could try to make it work. What other choice did she have?

Madam Trussey was pointing her wand at the front doors, effectively locking the shop. The witch let out a satisfied sigh, smoothing the skirts of her lavender robe. “There we go,” she said, smiling kindly as she turned to Hermione. “I hope the books were nice to you. They get nippy over the weekends.”

“As nice as you’d expect fanged books to be.” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted the red ink on one of the many papers scattered behind the counter. “What’s that?”

A flick of Madam Trussey’s wand, and the parchment vanished. “Nothing for you to fuss about, dear. Just the Ministry being bothersome, as it always is.”

Frowning, Hermione said, “What are they bothering you about now?”

“As you know, I’ve had a bit of trouble over the summer.” She waved a flippant hand, but Hermione saw the real concern in the hardness of her eyes. “Vandals and protesters and such. Flourish and Blott’s was neutral through the war, and the Order hasn’t forgiven me for it, I’m afraid.”

“You were right not to take a side,” assured Hermione, arms folded stiffly over her chest. “Knowledge should always be neutral.”

An unreadable look crossed Madam Trussey’s features, and she patted Hermione’s shoulder. “Best not to dwell on it. Would you like some tea? I made some fresh croissants this morning, and I’m afraid I can only eat so much,” she added, hands placed on her hips.

In truth, Hermione wanted nothing more than to retreat to her room, curl up in her blankets, and read until she fell asleep again. She didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment, especially such a chatterbox as Madam Trussey.

But the kind witch had done so much for Hermione over the years that she couldn’t refuse. “I’d love to,” she said, forcing a lightness to her tone that she didn’t feel.

Madam Trussey talked late into the night, filling Hermione in on all the goings-on of the bookshop and the drama surrounding the owners of the other shops in Diagon Alley. Hermione did her best to listen, but made sure she was constantly eating croissants. The more she ate, the less she had to talk. And the more crumbs Pigwidgeon got to snack on.

It took all her self control not to immediately bolt from the room when Madam Trussey had exhausted her stories and retired to her chambers. Hermione let Pigwidgeon out through one of the windows (it took him a few minutes to figure out he could fly through the disappearing charm) and made sure the shop was properly warded and locked. Madam Trussey was a kind-hearted woman, but she often let little things slip her mind.

A piece of torn paper laid on the carpet of her room when Hermione returned. She pulled Bellatrix’s wand from out behind her ear and hexed it with a complex analysis charm. One could only be so careful. 

When she found no trace of dark magic, she hesitantly picked it up. A few simple words stared back at her.

_ Velvet robes _

_ The Complete Works of Yvonne Halvert _

_ Parsnip Extract _

_ Tulip Seeds _

_ Silver Scales _

_ Cotton Dishrags _

It must have fallen out of Malfoy’s book when Hermione had opened it. Probably a list of the things Narcissa had needed that Malfoy had to retrieve. His mother had beautiful handwriting - all loops and curls. Hermione found herself slightly envious.

If Malfoy had left such important documents - news of his father’s arrest and the shopping list written by his mother - Hermione supposed he would be coming back tomorrow. For some reason, that thought didn’t unnerve her as much as it should have. 

Though Malfoy had done despicable things during the war, he didn’t pry. Didn’t push or sneer at her. He was simply there. Surviving as she did. Answer her questions as best he could without sacrificing his own privacy. 

They both had shadows of their own. And they both accepted that those shadows would be there for a long time to come.

Perhaps he wasn’t as horrible as Hermione wanted to believe. Perhaps he was only a boy in need of a friend.

Hermione didn’t think she could be a very good friend. She hadn’t been a good girlfriend, and after the conclusion of the war, most of her days were spent poring through records rather than aiding Harry and Ginny and all the others who were once close to her.

But if Malfoy was content to sit beside her and read, to calmly answer her questions and listen to her incessant, almost panicked rambles, then Hermione supposed his company wouldn't be entirely unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs in fangirl* I love them
> 
> (btw Madam Trussey is NOT a character in the HP universe, but I think she's perfect for the role of shopkeeper at Flourish and Blott's. Let me know what you think of her in the comments!)
> 
> <3 Katie


	6. Of Feathers and Offers

Another owl was waiting for Hermione around lunchtime.

She’d been writing notes in the margins of  _ A History of Magic  _ when the sleek horned owl flapped through the curtain and perched on the desk, a letter held in its beak. Hermione stroked the area between its gray, horn-like feathers and gently tugged out the message. The Malfoy seal, two twin serpents, was stamped over the ivory parchment.

_ Dearest Granger, _

_ I’ve become rather attached to the book you’ve offered me, but I, to your despair, cannot visit you today. If you could bring it with you on the train tomorrow, I would be forever in your debt. _

_ Forever yours, Draco Malfoy _

Hermione snorted at the sarcastic nature of the note. It was so annoyingly  _ Draco _ of him. 

Not bothering to ruin a blank sheet of parchment, she summoned a quill and scrawled her answer on the back of his letter, then stuffed it into its original envelope. The horned owl took it gracefully from her hand and settled on her wrist. It blinked up at her expectantly.

Sighing through her nose, Hermione pushed aside the curtain and made her way through the shop, making for its entrance. If Diagon Alley had been busy yesterday, then it was absolutely packed today. Everywhere she turned, she was met with a wall of robes. No doubt she looked out of place in her wrinkled Muggle clothes.

The owl was calm the entire way through the store, grooming himself as Hermione wove through the customers, willing them not to recognize her. As soon as she got to the exit, the owl flew away.

“Miss. Granger?” The voice was so close to her ear, Hermione had to dig her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from drawing Bellatrix’s wand.

Rufus Scrimgeour was finely dressed in the Ministry-issued robes, his balding hair slicked back in an unflattering way. His fox-like nose was pointed determinedly at Hermione, and his crooked smile made her scowl.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, willing her heart rate to slow.

The Minister of Magic straightened to his full height - a few inches short of Hermione’s. “We’ll skip the pleasantries,” he said with a wave of his hand. Clearly trying to make her at ease. It wasn’t working. “I understand you’ve been in contact with Draco Malfoy recently.”

Hermione bristled. “Hasn’t the Ministry done enough prying in my personal life?”

“I assure you it has nothing to do with  _ you _ specifically. Draco on the other hand…” He shook his head, feigning sympathy. “We - the Ministry, that is - suspect him of associating with the Dark Arts.”

In another time, Hermione might have agreed. But after being with Malfoy, hearing how much he despised his father and the path he’d chosen, she knew whatever rumors had been spread were obvious lies. Why on Earth would Malfoy go back to the Dark Arts, especially so soon after Lucius’s capture?

“I haven’t noticed anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. She turned back toward her room, but Scrimgeour wasn’t done speaking.

“Actually, we’re asking you to...keep an eye on him.” The sly look on the Minister’s face was nothing short of devious. “Make sure he’s not following in his father’s footsteps.”

Hermione gritted her teeth together to keep from gaping. She had dedicated almost her entire teenage life to helping the Ministry, and now, after they’d won the war, after they’d suffered, the Minister wanted her to become a spy. To get information from Malfoy.

But she didn’t want to bow to the Ministry anymore. 

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, loud enough that a few heads turned in their direction. Hermione chose not to acknowledge them.

Scrimgeour’s face went red. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am  _ done  _ working for the Ministry, understand? I will not spy on my fellow student, and I will not report to you and your band of Aurors,” she said, her voice taking on a savageness she hadn’t heard in a long time.

The Minister straightened his robes, eyes hard. “Please understand me, Miss. Granger. We have photos. If you do not comply with our wishes, there might be a chance of them leaking. To Rita Skeeter, perhaps? You seem to enjoy her writing,” he said, smiling in a way most men did when they knew they won.

Hermione felt molten rage pour down her back, hot and unstoppable. “You’re trying to blackmail me?” A wry laugh broke from her throat. “I’ve dedicated my entire life to your cause, and now that I refuse to help, you want to hurt me?”

She didn’t think about the consequences of what she did next. She decided not to care. With all her strength, she shoved the Minister of Magic out the door of Flourish and Blott’s.

He sputtered threats and curses, but Hermione didn’t stop pushing against his barrel chest. Not until Scrimgeour’s feet were scraping over the stone streets of Diagon Alley.

“Don’t come back,” she spat, leveling a final glare at the Minister before turning back to the shop.

“You’ll regret this,” Scrimgeour said, voice shrill and desperate at her back. “The Daily Prophet will be only too happy to publish our findings.”

Hermione didn’t pay the Minister the respect of a response. She kept walking until she was back in her room, surrounded by books and blankets and gentle, safe quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is ESPECIALLY short, but just stick with me. 
> 
> Also, do you think Hermione made the right decision with Scrimgeour's offer?
> 
> <3 Katie


	7. Of Trains and Cages

Hermione arrived at King's Cross station alone for the first time in two years.

The year before, she, Harry, and Ron had already been on the run, starting their quest to find all of Voldemort’s horcruxes and destroy them. And the year before that, her parents had dropped her off.

Now Rose and David Granger were in St. Mundo’s. Being pushed and prodded with wands, trying to restore their memory. The memories Hermione herself had stripped away.

At the moment, it had been the right thing to do. Even looking back, she knew it was the right call. But that didn’t change the fact that her parents weren’t here to walk beside her, to talk her through everything she was thinking about. And she missed them.

She walked through the wall separating the Muggle world from the magical and was relieved to find the Weasleys weren’t on the platform yet. Relieved and a little unnerved. Ginny had her trunk, and Hermione would be lost without it.

“Looking for someone?” asked Malfoy, standing a few feet away from her with an amused look. He was dressed immaculately as always, his coat slung over his arm.

Hermione shook her head, mouth tight. “Not exactly.” Before he could say anything, she slipped her hand into her satchel and pulled out his book. “Here. I hope you weren’t lying when you said you wanted it.”

“I wasn’t.” Malfoy took the book from her gently, as if afraid of scaring her. Something behind her caught his attention, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll just get on the train, now.”

Brows creased, Hermione glanced back. Ron was staring at her, but when he saw her looking at him, he quickly glanced away. She rolled her eyes. Teenage boys and their awkwardness.

Ginny, on the other hand, didn’t have such habits. She broke away from the group and threw her arms around Hermione. “Where have you been?” she demanded, smiling through her words. 

“Here and there,” said Hermione shortly, forcing herself to smile at the redhead. She cast a quick glance over Ginny’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing my trunk, I’m so sorry to have made you carry it.”

“It wasn’t a problem, truly.” Ginny opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. “Was that Draco Malfoy I saw talking to you?”

Hermione blew out an exasperated breath. She should have seen this coming. Hoping Ginny wouldn’t be as accusatory as Ron, she said, “He wanted to borrow a book from me,” and left it at that. 

Ginny’s features pinched in suspicion, but she didn’t say anything more. “Let’s load our trunks, hmm?” she asked. Hermione followed her to the stack of luggage which, unfortunately, sat right next to Ron.

She managed a tight smile at both Ron and Harry, who looked none too happy to be there. “Hello, boys. Come to wish me well?”

“Yes,” blurted Harry. Hermione didn’t miss the way he put his hand on Ron’s arm, probably to calm him. “Um, I’m going to say goodbye to Ginny.” Casting one last glance of warning at Ron, Harry gave Hermione a swift hug and sped towards the train, where Ginny was dragging both of their trunks. 

“You’re really going?” asked Ron. Merlin, he couldn’t even meet her gaze. This was the boy she’d chosen to date for so long?

Hermione nodded, lips pursed. “I told you I was going. So I’m going.”

“George said you went by the shop,” he said, arms rigid at his sides. “Where’ve you been staying the last few days?”

There would be no harm in telling him about Flourish and Blott’s. She told him before, but he always seemed to forget. “The back of the bookstore, remember? The room Madam Trussey set aside for me?”

Ron nodded stiffly, blowing out a breath. He jerked his chin toward the back of the train, and Hermione followed his gaze to Malfoy helping a raven-haired First Year load her trunk. The girl looked uneasy, as did her parents at Malfoy’s back, but he didn’t balk. Even flashed a forced smile at the girl before moving on down the train.

“Saw you talking to him when I got here,” sad Ron gruffly.

“Yes, I was.” Hermione toyed with the hem of her loose t-shirt, fingers itching to draw Bellatrix’s wand. She settled for pulling it out of her shorts pocket and sliding it behind her ear, wedging it among her wild tangles. Would he start a scene over something like this? She wouldn’t put it past him, but…

Ron ran a hand through his fiery hair, then looked to her. Hermione saw the betrayal in his eyes. “Well, I hope you’re happy with him.”

“I told you, Ronald, I’m not with someone else. But clearly you don’t want to believe me, so feel free to think whatever you want. I did what I could,” she said, keeping a leash on the anger building inside of her.

She composed herself as best she could and turned to leave, but Ron’s hand shot out and closed around her forearm. “Wait,” he said.

A jolt of panic and pain bolted through her arm, and she whimpered. Confused, Ron glanced down. And saw that his fingers had closed around that cursed scar, those jagged letters spelling out “Mudblood” over her skin.

Hermione ripped her hand from his grasp, summoning as much energy as she could to glare at him. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “Ever….ever again. I’m sorry you’re hurt, I’m sorry I caused you so much pain, but please...please leave me alone. If I want to talk to you, I’ll send you an owl.”

She stalked away before he could respond. Ginny was standing on the steps of the train, grinning down at her. “Ready to go?” she asked, her arm outstretched to Hermione.

Gripping Ginny’s hand, Hermione let her friend haul her onto the Gryffindor section of the train. Young wizards and warlocks ran past, shrieking at one another. Others sat in the compartments among candy wrappers, snorting with laughter. Had it always been so loud? So chaotic?

“We’ll find a quieter place,” Ginny promised, squeezing Hermione’s fingers.

All Hermione could do was nod, swallowing down the anxiety pressing on her throat. The last time she’d been surrounded by people shouting at one another with wands drawn, so many had been left lying on the ground. Eyes glassy, unseeing, hands reaching for a threat that had since moved on.

Ginny found a mostly empty compartment before Hermione let herself succumb to the memory.

Neville was sitting in the corner, and he smiled at them as they walked in and closed the door. “Hey, guys.”

Hermione brought her forearm to her chest, still reeling from Ron’s touch, and sat as close to the door as she could get. “Hello, Neville. How was your summer?” Polite and sweet - she had to be polite and sweet. The words were a mantra in her head.

“Oh, fine. Luna and I went to Ireland for a week, so that was fun,” he said. Oh, how Hermione hated him. Hated how he could be so terribly  _ normal  _ after everything had happened.

Ginny collapsed on the bench across from Neville, lanky body sprawled over the cushions. She cocked her head and gave Neville a suggestive grin. “Fun? Oh, come on, Nevvy. I’m sure you can come up with a few other ways to describe what happened.”

Redness crept up Neville’s neck, spreading to his cheeks. Hermione swooped in before he had the chance to speak. “What do you think McGonagall is going to do with Eighth Years? Are we going to need a Head or a Prefect?”

Tying up her auburn hair, Ginny gave Hermione a questioning look. “Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “You’re the Gryffindor Prefect this year. Obviously.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop. “Prefect?” she repeated, the word more of a breath than a question. She didn’t want to be in charge of anymore warlocks. Didn’t want to be responsible for their lives, for their studies. If she could hardly be held responsible for herself, how could she deal with dozens of other students?

“I thought you’d be pleased,” said Ginny as Hermione stood.

_ Polite and sweet. Polite and sweet. _

Schooling her features into neutrality, Hermione turned to her friends. They were both watching her with concern. “I’m sorry, I need to find another compartment. I’m afraid...I’m afraid I might be sick.”

A cage. This entire train was just a cage meant to keep her in, keep her alive. Everyone she spoke to didn’t understand what she did, didn’t see what she saw. And when she got to Hogwarts, she’d be in another cage, one made of stone and wood rather than metal and coal. 

Forearm pressed to her chest, Hermione opened the door and darted into the hallway. Not knowing where else to go, she started for the back of the train. There had to be an empty compartment there - had to.

The Hogwarts Express lurched forward, taking her stomach with it. Hermione gripped the sides of the corridor until the speed of the train had slowed enough to let her walk easily. She considered keeping her head down so the students in the compartments wouldn’t recognize her, but immediately dismissed that idea. She was Hermione Granger, and she had earned the right to walk with her head held high. 

The Ravenclaw section wasn’t nearly as loud as the Gryffindor, most of the students buried in their books or locked in fierce, hushed debate. Luna was in the fifth compartment on the right, and she saw Hermione as soon as Hermione saw her. The look Luna gave her wasn’t kind. It was almost...pitying. As if Luna could see straight through her.

Fighting down her shudder of discomfort, Hermione continued on.

It wasn’t until she got to the Slytherin section that she finally found an empty compartment. Heaving a sigh of relief, she pulled her forearm closer to her and slipped inside. Voices called to her from down the hall, but she closed the door. She didn’t trust herself to talk to anyone right now - especially not starstruck students brimming with questions.

She lowered herself to the floor - the place she felt safest. Sitting on a bench was fine, but one could be thrown off if the train hit a bump. She didn’t want to take that chance. She leaned back against the outer wall of the train, feeling the vibrations of the tracks at her shoulder blades. 

Wrapping her arms around her bare knees, Hermione focused on her breathing, trying to keep it as even as she could. Here, she was safe. Because here it was quiet. Here it was just her.

A stampede of excited footsteps echoed outside, approaching her compartment. Dread was a crushing weight around her heart, and Hermione held her breath. She couldn’t handle a conversation right now. Not with strangers, not with anyone.

But a new set of footsteps joined the rest. Through the fogged glass of the compartment door, she couldn’t make out the details, but she saw a fully grown boy with his hands tucked in his pockets, talking down to the students. A low, firm voice that gently commanded the students not to bother her, to return to their compartments and leave her be. Malfoy.

Cool relief flooded her body as the students begrudgingly left, whispering angrily to one another as they retreated to their separate compartments. Malfoy’s shadow remained in front of her compartment for a moment before he, too, returned to his seat. 

Hermione supposed she should change into her fine shirt and skirt, but she didn’t want to. Those clothes spoke of late night explorations and surprise attacks by members of Voldemort’s Order. She settled for tugging her robes over her Muggle clothes, finger combing her hair. 

McGonagall had made her Prefect. The Headmistress believed she’d snap back to reality as Harry and Ron had, believed Hermione would be prepared for such a responsibility. As much as she wanted to fulfill McGonagall’s expectations, Hermione knew that sort of responsibility would only harm her further. Another drop of anxiety in the ocean the war had left behind.

Her mind was too jumbled to focus on a novel, so Hermione pulled her satchel off her shoulders and laid it on the ground. Using the soft leather as a pillow, she curled on her side and let the rumbling train lull her to sleep.

She kept her scar close to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm soft now. 
> 
> Hermione deserves the world.
> 
> <3 Katie


	8. Of Pumpkin and Meetings

Someone was shaking her shoulder.

Hermione jerked upright, hand flying to the wand tucked over her ear. Her movements stilled when she saw Ginny standing before her, frowning at her reaction.”You alright?” she asked.

Flashing the brightest smile she could manage, Hermione stood and slung the satchel over her robes.  _ Polite and sweet.  _ “Yes, of course. Are we here already?” She did her best to blink the sleep from her eyes.

“What were you doing in Slytherin?” Ginny’s words were laced with a forced lightness, as if she’d already come up with her own answers.

Hermione shrugged, brushing past her to get to the door. “It was the only section with an empty compartment,” she said. “And I needed to be alone for a bit.”

Ginny followed her past the abandoned seats, making for the exit. “Neville was worried about you.”

“He shouldn’t be,” said Hermione, harsher than she intended.  _ Polite and sweet.  _ “What I mean is, I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Are you?” Ginny dropped down from the train, her shoes crunching on the gravel. The gaggle of students was far ahead, clopping along in carriages. She groaned. “Great. Walking. So lovely.”

Hermione put a hand on her friend’s arm, hoping she looked convincing. “Honestly, Gin, I’m fine. Sorry to have made you late for the carriages,” she added, wincing at the vast distance between them and the rest of the students.

“Would you like to use your broom?” asked Malfoy, holding Ginny’s out to her. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, materializing from the shadows. Hermione’s unease melted away. Safe - Malfoy was safe.

Ginny’s face hardened. She glanced between Malfoy and Hermione, at the breadth of an inch separating them. If Hermione moved a bit to the right, her shoulder would hit his elbow.

“Thanks,” she said carefully. Her calloused hand closed around the broom, and Hermione saw that familiar thrill leap into her gaze. Ginny loved flying more than anything else. But she turned to Hermione. “Want to hop on with me? We’d get there a lot faster.” Hermione didn’t miss the pointed look Ginny gave Malfoy. 

Hermione shook her head, cheeks aching from so much fake smiling. “I’ll be fine. I’ve seen the opening speeches and the Sorting more times than I’d like to count,” she said. 

It was obvious that Ginny felt uncomfortable leaving, but Hermione insisted. After a few more minutes of coaxing, the redhead threw her leg over the broom and leaped into the sky, whooping with excitement.

As soon as she left, Hermione’s bright smile dropped. She glanced to Malfoy, who wore a similar dark expression. Unlike she and Ginny, he wasn’t wearing his robes. The silver of his Slytherin tie gleamed in the moonlight. “How’d you get her broom?” she asked.

He nodded back to the Hogwarts Express. House elves were unloading the dozens upon dozens of trunks crammed in the back of the train, moving them to one of the four carriages. Each was labeled with a different house. “As payment for being allowed back at the school, I have the obligation of assisting the staff whenever they require it,” he explained coolly. 

Hermione spied tendrils of green magic working alongside the elves - Malfoy’s magic at work. “And why haven’t the other Eighth Years been required to do the same?”

“Because the other Eighth Years didn’t offer themselves to Voldemort.” He gripped his forearm, a muscle flickering in his jaw. Still, he held her inquisitive gaze. Didn’t flinch away as most did.

Was that truly fair? After all, Malfoy had been under the influence of his Death Eater father - a boy eager to impress, to fulfill his family’s expectations. But that didn’t negate what he had done. Hermione made a humming sound of understanding and walked toward the house elves.

She rearranged Bellatrix’s wand behind her ear, making sure it was secured in the wild mass of her hair. Malfoy’s footsteps were slow beside her, probably on account of the height difference between them. “And where are you going?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione shed her robe, knowing the billowing fabric would only heed her movements, and draped it over the front of the Gryffindor carriage. “I’m helping.”

Drawing Bellatrix’s wand, she muttered a quick incantation and flicked her wrist. Red spirals met green, and she gave a huff of satisfaction as more trunks moved from the train to the carriages, carried by both her and Malfoy’s magic.

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth tugged up, and he slipped his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks. “Impressive. You came up with that off the top of your head?”

Hermione blew out a calming breath. “A combination of sorting, analyzing, and shifting enchantments. Should do the trick.” She gestured toward the house elves, not stopping their efforts despite the magic surrounding them. “They’re getting paid, right?”

A short laugh. “Yes, Granger. The Headmistress hasn’t forgotten her promise to you yet,” he said, a note of amusement to his tone.

“Just making sure.” She chewed at her lip, crossing her arms over her stomach. The air was colder than she’d expected, and goosebumps were already running down her arms and legs. But she liked the numbing feeling. How it seemed to freeze her blood, slow her heart.

It was only a few minutes before the house elves were finished packing the trunks away, and the red and green tendrils of power faded. Malfoy stepped toward the carriages before she did, and he glanced back at her. Studying her expression. Hermione kept her mouth tight, replacing Bellatrix’s wand in the space behind her ear.

“Come on, Granger. Let’s get inside before you freeze.” He cocked his head in the direction of the carriages, and Hermione forced herself to move forward. Malfoy kept his hands in his pockets as they walked, removing them only to haul himself into the front of the Gryffindor carriage after her. She was glad he didn’t try to hug her as George often did.

And while they rode, she was glad he didn’t ask how she was doing. Her gaze was focused past the twin horses and onto the gloomy road ahead, the castle looming in the distance. Breath coming in shallow bursts, Hermione dug her fingernails into her palms.

“I finished the book you gave me,” said Malfoy. He, too, was staring ahead. “It was riveting.”

Despite herself, Hermione barked a dry laugh. “If you didn’t like it, just say so.”

Malfoy’s gray eyes were a sharp silver in the nighttime. “No, I truly did. It was a nice break from the usual drabble about enchantments. The author seemed to have a real passion for the topics she spoke of.”

Hermione couldn’t remember the specifics of  _ The Complete Guide to Ministry-Registered Spells,  _ but she recalled her enjoyment of it. Then again, she enjoyed most books. “How so?” she asked.

“Their writing style was more flowery than one would expect of a non-fiction,” said Malfoy. He leaned back on the wooden bench as though it were the most comfortable bed in existence. “And she was sure to include every detail she could of the spells, along with examples and a complete explanation of every idea she introduced. It was like looking into her mind, seeing all the different thoughts she had about the subject.”

“Did she execute it well?” Hermione crossed her legs underneath her, settling back against the carriage. At Malfoy’s questioning look, she added, “Sometimes the author will include literally  _ everything  _ they think about something and it gets quite boring.”

Malfoy hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think it ever got boring, so I suppose she did it well. Though there were a few contradictions here and there, they weren’t incredibly significant.”

For the rest of the carriage ride, Malfoy spoke, telling her all that he thought about the book. He even gave his opinion on the cover, which he described as “classic in a modern way”. His voice was deep and methodical, and Hermione found that she didn’t mind when he talked. It was almost better than when he was quiet. 

She snagged her robe off the carriage when the horses pulled into the grounds of Hogwarts. Instead of putting it on, she slung it over her shoulder. The cold air was much better than the whispering of fabric. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like he had his robe, either.

Bellatrix’s wand was warm in Hermione’s hand as she cast an identical enchantment as before - one that sensed the nametags on the trunks and carried them to their intended rooms. Spurred by her red magic, trunks flew up to the towers and down to the dungeons of the Slytherin dormitory. The house elves, sitting on the other carriages, just watched with bulging eyes. 

“That’s one way of doing it,” said Malfoy from beside her. He hopped down from the carriage and, as Hermione approached the edge, offered her his hand. She took it and let him support her as her feet hit the ground. His hand was warm and rough, and his touch didn’t revolt her as others did.

She still released him as quickly as she could.

“Do you think the ceremonies are over by now?” she asked.

Malfoy muttered something under his breath, flicked his hawthorn wand, and a streak of green shot up the stairs. It returned a few seconds later, disappearing into his temple. 

“They’re eating, now,” he said, tucking the wand back into his pocket. “Do you need to change?”

Hermione scowled. If she was being honest, she didn’t want to change. Didn’t want to put on that strangling tie and crisp white shirt, those skirts that made her legs itch. Ignoring her robes was one thing, but the uniform was Hogwarts policy. If she didn’t wear it, she wouldn’t be able to study. Reluctantly, she passed Bellatrix’s wand over her Muggle clothes, exchanging them for a button up with rolled-up sleeves tucked into black trousers. She loosened the tie at her collar as much as she could without making it obvious, then replaced her wand and turned to Malfoy.

“Better?” she asked drily, arms crossed.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t make the rules,” he said. Hermione matched him stride-for-stride as they ascended the stairs, the hem of her robe brushing over the stone. She stuffed the mass of black fabric in her satchel.

The Great Hall was packed with students, filled with laughing voices when they arrived. Hermione felt her lungs constrict. The last time she’d seen the Great Hall, corpses had lined its floors. Tonks, Remus, Fred. The ceiling had been alive with the sparks of Killing Curses. 

Malfoy sensed her still at the arched entrance, and he stopped. She waited for him to suggest she go see Madam Pomfrey, waited for him to ask her what was wrong, but he didn’t. 

“I’ll bring you some pumpkin juice,” he said simply and stepped through the doorway. 

Hermione wouldn’t let herself feel ashamed. Her fear, for the moment, wasn’t something she could control. Soon, she promised herself she would enter the Great Hall. She would eat with Ginny and laugh and joke with the rest of the Gryffindors. 

Malfoy sat at the end of the Slytherin table. Alone. The others glanced his way only to turn to their friends and whisper something - probably something nasty. She wanted to sit with him, if only so he had someone to talk to. So he knew he wasn’t truly alone in Hogwarts.

But not today. She couldn’t go in there today. Maybe she should just go to Gryffindor tower and read by herself, make sure all of her quills and inks and parchment was arranged properly. 

She was halfway there before she realized she couldn’t get into the common room without the password. The password that she, as Prefect, was supposed to know. 

A new sense of anger stung at her mind. How could McGonagall be known as a clever witch and assign the position to someone who had just come from the heat of battle? How could she expect Hermione to take up the position with such ease?

She needed to speak to McGonagall. Let her know that she couldn’t and wouldn’t accept the position, that it needed to be assigned to someone more capable.

So Hermione turned for the Headmistress’s quarters.

The stone doors groaned open for her when she approached, her steps echoing loudly over the mostly empty room. McGonagall was writing something when Hermione entered, somehow maintaining a dignified posture as she hunched over her desk.

“Welcome back, Miss. Granger.” She folded the paper she’d been writing on and handed it to the snowy owl perched on her desk, who took it and flapped away in a flurry of white. Hermione was painfully reminded of Hedwig, but she pushed the thought aside. 

She leaned her hip against the doorway, putting a few feet between herself and the Headmistress. “I’ve come to refuse the Prefect position.”

Behind her spectacles, McGonagall’s eyebrows rose. “You’re serious,” she said, gravelly voice faltering slightly. Clearly, Hermione’s request had been unexpected.

“I am.” Reaching for Bellatrix’s wand, Hermione twirled it over her fingers a few times. The dark wood was more of a comfort than it had ever been before. “I’ve come to Hogwarts this year with the intention of completing my studies - nothing else,” she explained as calmly as she could. 

McGonagall was not convinced. “I gave you the position because I believed you were the best choice. Your work over the years is unmatchable.”

“Give the position to someone else,” said Hermione as firmly as she dared. “Ginny would be happy to take it, or Neville, or anyone. Just not me.”

The Headmistress stared at her, the frown lines around her mouth deepening. “I hope you understand the significance of what you’re asking,” she said. “Being named Prefect is no simple feat.”

Hermione’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Trust me on this one. I understand completely,” she assured, still twirling the wand in her hand.

“What’s the password to the Gryffindor common room?” she added, straightening off the wall.

“‘Dagwood’,” said McGonagall, a wary eye on Bellatrix’s wand.

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement and walked out of the Headmistress’s office, feeling strangely confident. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was no longer Prefect. Perhaps it was how she hadn’t needed to argue relentlessly in order to drop the position. 

But there was something tugging at her mind. The sense of power that had sparked a fire in her veins when she had held Bellatrix’s wand, when McGonagall had become increasingly uncomfortable around the Death Eater’s wand.

Hermione studied the wand in her hands, noting the notches in the wood, the worn smoothness of the handle. If she squinted, she could see drops of blood dripping from the tip. Her blood, from when the same wand had carved “Mudblood” into her forearm.

She tucked the wand behind her ear, unable to hide the smirk pulling at her mouth as she strode down the corridors of Hogwarts. Voices echoed from the Great Hall behind her, laughter pealing through the castle like church bells. 

Maybe, in order to move on from her fear, Hermione had to change. Maybe she should stop ignoring all that she’d left in the darkness and let it rise to the surface. Harness it, make it bend to her will. 

Hermione pondered how in the world she would go about doing that when she finally arrived at the Gryffindor tower. “Dagwood,” she said.

The painted lady rolled her eyes. “No ‘hello’? No ‘I missed you’?”

Hermione gave up being polite and glared at the painting.

It swung open.

The common room was the exact same as she, Ron, and Harry had left it. A couch in the center of the room, an unlit fireplace in the wall. Hermione walked up to the stairs on the right side of the room, leading to the girls’ chambers.

Running her hand over the banister, she breathed in the quietness of the place. It was strange standing there, knowing that Harry and Ron weren’t there. A spark of panic leaped in her chest, but she smothered it. Harry and Ron were fine - absolutely fine. She didn’t have to worry for their safety anymore, didn’t have to protect them anymore. Voldemort was dead.

Or was he?

Merlin, would she ever stop? Would the paranoia ever leave her? Sometimes, Hermione could’ve sworn she touched another Horcrux. Could’ve sworn the Dark Lord was still alive, that his soul was in everything her hands brushed over.

After the war, she’d stopped wearing jewelry. Completely. Even seeing a necklace, a diadem, set her teeth on edge.  _ Take it off  _ she wanted to shout at those who did.  _ Take it off and destroy it. _

But that was stupid and foolish, so she didn’t.

Hermione dropped her satchel on the bed with her name hovering over it in floating letters. She was happy to see that Ginny’s name hovered over the bed beside hers. At least it wasn’t someone she didn’t know. 

She’d only just sat down when a house elf appeared with a sharp  _ pop.  _ “Hullo, missus ‘Mione,” it said. Her eyes narrowed on the tray balanced in its spindly hands.

“What’s this?” she asked, waving to the plate piled high with food and the tall drink beside it. A growling sound came from her traitorous stomach.

“Master Malfoy says I’s not to tell you who’s gave it to you,” said the elf with a triumphant grin. His smile disappeared, though, when he realized what he’d revealed. 

Hermione grabbed his wrist before the poor elf could begin hitting himself. “I command you not to punish yourself,” she said, trying not to let her annoyance show. The creature needed soothing, not reprimanding.

Once she was sure he wouldn’t punch himself, Hermione let the elf go. He quickly set the tray on her bedside table, the dishes rattling. “I’ll come and picks it up in the mornings,” he said and disappeared in a loud  _ snap _ .

The heavenly aroma coming from the tray was undeniable. Hermione snatched one of the buttery rolls from the plate, pulling the bread apart in her fingers and lifting a generous portion to her mouth.

Malfoy had said he would get her some pumpkin juice, but Hermione hadn’t truly believed him. People promised things in passing all the time, and very rarely did they mean it. Malfoy, it seemed, had meant it. And more.

The chatter of students sounded downstairs by the time she had polished off the food and drained the pumpkin juice down to the dregs. Malfoy might be a Slytherin, but he had good taste. He’d selected the exact things she herself might have chosen - if she had the courage to enter the Great Hall. 

Hermione drew a novel from her bag as Ginny entered, cheeks red and eyes bright. Her arms were around Hermione before she could react. “Where have you been?” asked Ginny. “I saw Malfoy, but I couldn’t find you. He said he didn’t know where you were, but I didn’t believe him. And do you know why McGonagall called Neville to her office?”

So the Headmistress had taken Hermione’s advice. Good. Untangling herself from Ginny, Hermione said, “I wasn’t feeling very hungry, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Ginny didn’t look entirely convinced, but at least she didn’t ask anymore questions. “You missed out on a fantastic cake.”

Was she referring to the lemon one with raspberry jam, or the chocolate one with chopped almonds? Malfoy had sent her a slice of both, but Hermione didn’t say anything about that. “Maybe they’ll have it again,” she said, pointedly returning to her book.

Though she kept her gaze on her book as Ginny unpacked beside her, Hermione’s mind was in a thousand different places. Malfoy had sent her food. The same Malfoy who had tormented her and her friends throughout their school years. The same Malfoy who had fallen asleep on her floor only a few days before.

Was it wrong to find comfort in his presence? She supposed it wasn’t. If anyone in the entire castle could understand her past, it was him. He’d been on the opposite end of the war, fighting for the other side, but Hermione didn’t think it could have been any better than her own experience. Judging by the rumors of his family life, it was possible that it might have been worse.

Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater, was now the only person Hermione Granger felt safe around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A boy who reads books, talks about them, AND brings you food???
> 
> Sign me up. 
> 
> You can get your own Draco Malfoy at www.DeathEaterBoyfriends.com
> 
> DISCLAIMER: not a real website(sadly)
> 
> <3 Katie


	9. Of Prophets and Threats

The Great Hall was already filled with students when she got there.

Hermione wasn’t going to go in yet - of course not. But today was the first day of classes, and she’d promised Ginny she would go with her. 

So she leaned her shoulder against the stone archway and waited, focus switching between the book in her palm and the students sitting at the tables. Any minute, she was sure something would happen. A Death Eater would apparate inside and take the students hostage. Voldemort would rise from the Headmistress’s podium and cast Killing Curses at random. 

And while Hermione didn’t want to be responsible for their lives, she also didn’t want to see any more warlocks die.

Bellatrix’s wand was still tucked behind her ear. She found that it was easier to keep it there, close to her reach, rather than tucking it in the pocket of her trousers.

The flurrying of owls filled the air, swooping down to drop parcels and letters onto the house tables. One, she noticed, delivered an envelope to Malfoy, the same horned owl that had visited her in Flourish and Blott’s.

Malfoy’s position among the other students hadn’t changed in the slightest. Even though it meant squishing closer together, the other Slytherins gave him a wide berth, as if someone had cast a protective line around him that they couldn’t cross. To his credit, Malfoy pretended not to notice, opening his letter with a content expression.

A commotion rose among the students, then, that made Hermione’s focus drift away from the book. Several students went so far as to rise from their seats and run to their friends, a thick bundle of paper clutched in their hands. The Daily Prophet.

Icy confusion trickled into her stomach, and she put her book away. Something had happened. Something bad. Eyes narrowed, she caught many students casting sharp looks at Malfoy. One gave him a gleeful thumbs up. He raised an eyebrow. 

Clearly he didn’t know what was going on either. Hermione looked to Ginny, only to find the redhead already stalking towards her.

Before she could ask what was going on, Ginny shoved the newspaper into her chest, scowling. “Care to explain?” she asked, voice sharp with anger. She stomped away before Hermione could respond.

The headline of the Daily Prophet read “Granger Spotted with Malfoy - Secret Relationship?”. A large picture had been included. Hermione stared at it, watched herself grab Malfoy’s robes and drag him through the crowd and into Flourish and Blott’s. His eyes stayed on her the entire way. Hermione clenched her jaw.

Cheeks heated with a mix of shame and anger, she surveyed the Great Hall. All attention was on Malfoy - on  _ her _ . It had been a mistake to come here. A stupid, foolish mistake. 

Someone at the Slytherin table shouted, “Good girl Granger hooking up with bad boy Malfoy! Ha!”

A slop of scrambled eggs flew from the Gryffindor table, hitting the mocker directly in the face. The attack was followed by a shrill “Shut up!”

The professors, from their seats on the raised dais, tried to restore order, but the students refused to comply. They were too worked up to listen to reason. 

Malfoy didn’t move from his seat, even as a few of the students came over to his bench, either to praise or insult him. His grip on his fork tightened, but his gaze remained on his plate. Occasionally, in times he could get away with it, his eyes would flick to hers. Questioning. Silently asking her what she needed him to do.

Hermione was frozen in the doorway, a thousand different thoughts swirling through her mind. It seemed the Minister had made good on his threat. She wondered when Ron’s Howler would come, accusing her of cheating on him. 

It was that thought of injustice that made Hermione shout, “Enough!”

Gradually, the shouts ringing through the hall quieted. The students’ eyes went to her. Some were mocking, but most were just confused.

She realized her mistake immediately. She had drawn their attention, but...she wasn’t sure of what to say. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, hoping the words would come to her as she continued talking. “The Daily Prophet is only tabloid junk and propaganda - you all know this,” she said fiercely. “Why are you so quick to believe what it says?”

“Is it true?” asked a bold Ravenclaw. The boy’s hard look didn’t falter. Hermione recognized him from the Order. No doubt he thought her a traitor, a double crosser who fraternized with the enemy.

Hermione held the boy’s glare with a steady look of her own. “My personal life - and Malfoy’s - is ours and ours alone. Neither the Daily Prophet, nor any of you, have a right to it. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring this up again.”

The students muttered to one another, but at least they weren’t shouting anymore. Hermione let herself breathe easy, though her expression remained hard. Especially when she caught McGonagall looking at her, a blend of sympathy and interest passing over her face.

Malfoy stayed quiet when Hermione strode away from the Great Hall, making for her first class - a Study of Runes. Ginny would probably already be there.

She couldn’t help but feel hurt that Ginny, someone she had considered her friend, had been so quick to find fault with her. From the Daily Prophet, to make things worse. There had been so many false things published about Harry that Ginny had no issue in brushing past. Why couldn’t Ginny see that this story, too, was full of lies?

Her footsteps echoed in the mostly empty classroom when Hermione arrived. Ginny’s red hair, tied back in a messy ponytail, was the brightest thing in the room. The professor didn’t seem to find value in the idea of color.

She dropped the crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet onto Ginny’s desk. The witch crossed her arms, hard gaze directed on one of the many windows lining the wall. Could she truly not even look at Hermione?

“Do you seriously think I cheated on Ron with Draco Malfoy?” Her words were laced with a quiet anger, more lethal than she’d intended them.

Ginny rubbed at her nose. “Did you?”

Hermione leashed her rage enough to sit down on the desk beside Ginny’s, though her fingers sought the comfort of Bellatrix’s wand. “Come on, Gin,” she said softer. “You know me.”

“Do I?” Ginny turned a scornful look on Hermione. “You left the Burrow, didn’t send me an owl back, didn’t sit with Neville and me on the way here, and then you chose to walk with Malfoy in the dark rather than fly to the carriages with me. And, on top of all that, you won’t even come to eat with the Gyffindors,” she said, hands gesturing wildly. 

Hermione couldn’t deny the accusations, but she also couldn’t explain her reasoning. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. “Just because I’ve changed a bit doesn’t mean you should take what the Prophet says as truth. Especially when its claims are so utterly stupid.”

“So you didn’t stand up for Malfoy in Diagon Alley?” asked Ginny wrily. “You didn’t bring him into Flourish and Blott’s?”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean-”

Ginny’s laugh was dry and humorless. “Don’t you know what he’s done? The destruction he’s caused?”

“Of course I do.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not denying his past, or what he did for Voldemort, but I understand why he did it.”

Looking away from her, Ginny’s lips thinned. “Then you’re as bad as the rest of them.”

Hermione heard her unspoken accusation.  _ As bad as the other Death Eaters.  _ The icy confusion in her core turned to a smoldering rage. “I’d be careful of what you say,” she said, voice shaking with a barely contained fury. “Because you don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, I know. I fought  _ with  _ you, remember? I put my life on the line, same as you.”

But it wasn’t the same. Ginny had been protected by her family, taking asylum in the Burrow until her family was asked to fight. Ginny had a choice. Hermione didn’t.

Even from the start, Hermione had spent her school years not studying, but fighting. While Ginny was sitting at home with Arthur and Molly, Hermione was hunting for the Horcruxes. While the Weasleys were having family dinner, Hermione was being tortured at Malfoy Mansion, screaming for someone to save her. No one had. 

So no. Ginny did not understand. And Hermione couldn’t make her understand.

“Believe what you want,” she said, glowering at the redhead. “I don’t care.” She stalked to the back of the class, swung her bag under her desk, and slid into the seat. 

She twirled Bellatrix’s wand around her fingers as the other students slowly trickled in. When some tried to steal a curious glance at her, Hermione glared back. They looked quickly away. 

Even Professor Bathsheda Babbling didn’t comment on Hermione’s strange choice of sitting in the back of the class rather than the front - not when she was spinning a Death Eater’s wand in her hand. That familiar sense of power buzzed in Hermione’s veins at the realization.

Malfoy wasn’t in the class, which only made her more on edge. To distract herself from the unsettling thought, she took notes, each mark over the paper was sharp and deliberate. Ancient Runes was in no way a difficult class for her, and Hermione found it hard to focus on her writings. That incessant thought, that another Horcrux was still out there, had resurfaced in her mind.

Her next class, History of Magic, passed in a similar manner.

When Professor Binns dismissed them, Hermione was the first out the door. The others were making their way to the Great Hall for lunch, but she made her way towards the library. Her worries of another Horcrux had only grown as time passed.

Professor Pince hadn’t changed a bit since Hermione had last been to Hogwarts. Same pinched face, same unnecessarily long quills, same ridiculous three-pointed hat. Mercifully, the librarian didn’t pay Hermione any attention, letting her walk quickly through the aisles.

Information about Horcruxes was stowed away in the Restricted Section, protected by various charms and hexes designed to keep students away. But Hermione was no ordinary student.

As quietly as she could, Hermione cast an analysis charm over the darkened shelves. Threads of magic appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, creating one of the most complex protective wards Hermione had ever seen. It was akin to those she herself had cast to keep Harry and Ron hidden in the woods, unseen and protected from Death Eaters. 

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Hermione set to work on untangling the threads, determining what each glowing tendril was. A ward against children, a ward against animals. A ward against wizards, witches, ghosts, poltergeists, dragons, goblins. Almost every living thing one could imagine, the Restricted Section had been protected from. Hermione huffed her frustration. Why in the world did the Restricted Section even exist if not for reading?

She resigned herself to studying the books that were  _ not  _ under a million protective wards. Settling at one of the many tables placed between the aisles, Hermione pulled a few books on the Dark Arts off the shelves and thumbed her way through them, skimming the pages for the word “Horcrux”. 

Unsurprisingly, she found nothing, and it was again time for class.

Hermione gripped the strap of her satchel as she left, leaving fingernail indentations in the leather. She tried not to dart her gaze around, not when Professor Pince was still here, but the nagging sense that Voldemort was alive couldn’t be shaken. Instinctively, she reached for Bellatrix’s wand.

Professor Pince’s gaze snapped up at the movement, and Hermione stilled. For a moment, they just looked at one another - Hermione gripping the wand behind her ear, Pince reaching for her own. Behind the Professor’s cool gaze, there was genuine terror.

Hermione didn’t feel like causing any more tension. She dropped her hand and walked out of the library as quickly as she could. 

The halls were empty, most of the students having already found their classrooms. Hermione was about to do the same when she heard agitated voices around the corner. She spun toward the noise, drawing Bellatrix’s wand as she did.

Malfoy was facing McGonagall in the corridor, his left hand fisted over his chest. Two Aurors stood beside the Headmistress, eyes narrowed on the Eighth Year.

“I’m sorry, Mister Malfoy, but it’s the Ministry’s orders,” said McGonagall. “They simply need to check your father’s ring to make sure the Dark Arts aren’t involved.”

“They already did that.” Hermione wasn’t sure how he remained so calm when the Aurors took a step closer to him. He didn’t balk from meeting each of their gazes individually, but she caught a muscle twitch in his jaw. “I can assure you that all of my father’s possessions were properly analyzed by the finest Aurors of the Ministry. Unless you believe your colleagues weren’t as thorough as they should have been,” he added, brows raised.

She saw one of the Auror’s hands go to the wand strapped at their hip, and she darted forward. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, putting herself between Malfoy and the two stunned Aurors. Even McGonagall looked surprised.

“This doesn’t concern you, Miss Granger,” said one, his round features scrunching together in annoyance. 

“You and I both know that this is a violation of section 2.3 of the Wizarding Privacy Act instituted by Nicolas Flamel in 1105,” she snapped back. Both Aurors looked too confused to argue. “If a wizard’s possessions have already been searched, the Ministry has no right to demand those possessions for a re-evaluation - not unless consent from the owner has been attained.”

Not waiting for their response, Hermione turned to Malfoy. This close to him, she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. “Do you consent to the re-examination of your ring?”

The ghost of a smile flickered over his mouth. “No.” He looked to the Aurors standing on either side of McGonagall. “I don’t.”

“There.” Hermione spun around and crossed her arms, Bellatrix’s wand still grasped in her hand. “Now, unless the Ministry would like to change wizarding law, I’d suggest you refer to the resources of your libraries before you try to take another wizard’s belongings.”

McGonagall gave her a thoughtful look. When neither Auror moved, the Headmistress said, “You heard the girl. Run on back to your Minister. Go on.” She waved her hand in a shooing motion, scowling at the Aurors.

After muttering incoherent insults, the two wizards stalked away to Apparate outside of school grounds. McGonagall inclined her head toward Hermione before she, too, left the scene in a whisper of robes and the clicking of heels.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. She got worked up so easily these days. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Malfoy hadn’t moved from his spot behind her.

“What’s your next class?” she asked, sliding Bellatrix’s wand behind her ear.

“Potions,” said Malfoy. Hermione envied the calmness with which he spoke, as if nothing could anger him. Meanwhile, the unfairness of the situation still itched at her skin.

She considered telling him of Scrimgeour’s offer, blaming the incident of the Prophet on herself, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything, he should be thanking her that she’d chosen not to spy on him. It made her so frustrated, though, that the Minister was willing to stain her reputation all for the sake of his pride. She wondered how long it would take to Apparate to the Ministry and strangle the balding man.

Without waiting for Malfoy, she started walking down the hall. “I suppose we’re late.”

She felt his presence at her side - gentle and comforting. “I suppose we are,” he said, a smile to his voice.

Potions wasn’t as nerve wracking as Runes and History of Magic had been. With Malfoy standing on the other side of the room, Hermione barely thought of Horcruxes once the entire time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooh Restricted Section mysteryyyyyy
> 
> <3 Katie


	10. Of Imposters and Plans

When she returned to her room, another tray of food was waiting for her. 

She carried it to the desk in the corner, setting it down carefully on the wood. Having not eaten since the night before, Hermione wanted nothing more than to scarf it down immediately. But she forced herself to get out her quills and parchment first, to arrange her textbooks neatly on the shelf over the desk. Then she let herself eat.

There had been no note, but it didn’t take much to assume that Malfoy had again sent her food. Though she would never admit it, Hermione was grateful for his quiet but kind gestures. Without a note, there was nothing she had to respond to. She could eat without worrying about where she would get food outside of the Great Hall.

It was such a drastic change of character, though. When Malfoy had been teased before, pushed the breaking point, he had lashed out - cruelly and violently. But now, it seemed nothing could shake his cool composure. It was almost infuriating.

How had three months affected him so greatly? If anything, he’d gotten crueller over the course of the war. Perhaps there were things going on behind the scenes - things the Order weren’t able to see - that had forced him to change. To become a quieter, calmer version of himself. 

Hermione supposed it might have something to do with how people thought of him. Despite not being sentenced, most in the magical community despised him. As he’d said a few days before, they were waiting for him to follow in Lucius’s footsteps. In order to make them less suspicious, maybe Malfoy had to become someone harmless and compliant.

And then there was the case of the Aurors demanding to see Lucius’s ring. Hermione couldn’t imagine a rational reason behind the demands, and knowing just how low Scrimgeour was willing to stoop, it was probably nothing. Nothing but a show of power, a threat. Letting Malfoy know that, as soon as he stepped out of line, the Ministry would be upon him like a pack of rabid wolves.

Sighing through her nose, Hermione grabbed a sheet of paper and a fresh quill. She couldn’t think about this right now. Her classes had assigned her enough work. But she made sure to eat as she wrote. If she didn’t, she was afraid her stomach might start devouring itself.

She sensed Ginny enter the room an hour or so later, but Hermione didn’t say anything. If Ginny wasn’t going to believe her, she wouldn’t waste her breath defending herself. 

It seemed Ginny had the same idea. By the time Hermione was completely finished with her studies, Ginny was fast asleep in her bed.

Hermione almost followed her before considering a different option. There was no doubt in her mind that Ron and Harry had seen the Daily Prophet, and one of them had probably sent a letter - either one of confusion or of anger. She didn’t want to wait until morning to get hers. 

So she made sure Bellatrix’s wand was secure behind her ear, blew out the candle, and made for the Gryffindor common room.

Thankfully, it was late enough that no one was there to see her leave. The painted lady shot her a disappointed frown, but didn’t say anything as Hermione closed the door noiselessly behind her. She cast the best invisibility charm she could - a sorry substitute for Harry’s invisibility cloak but the best she could manage - and started through the corridors. 

Using an unregistered Death Eater’s wand meant that the Ministry couldn’t detect her spells as they did for most warlocks. Hermione couldn’t be held accountable for the spells she cast when the Ministry wasn’t even aware she was casting them. So, while others who snuck around the castle had to depend on enchanted objects or just dumb luck, she could cast as many charms as she needed. 

She cast a few charms of swiftness and quietness to muffle her footsteps, to speed up her pace. The owlery was on the other side of Hogwarts, which meant she had at least a ten minute walk ahead of her - and that was without the random movements of the main staircases. Sneaking around without the company of Harry and Ron, however strange it felt, was freeing in a way. No longer was she looking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t doing something stupid or causing an unnecessary ruckus that was bound to get them expelled. Hermione was working alone. And she loved every thrilling second of it.

The owlery was quiet for the most part, soft hoots and rustling wings the only sounds besides Hermione’s breathing. “Pig,” she whispered to the room of animals. “Pigwidgeon.”

For a moment, she thought that Ron might have been mature enough to leave it be. But then a little owl flapped awkwardly towards her, a single envelope in his claws. Hermione took it from him gently, letting him fly crookedly out of the owlery and into the night sky.

Surprisingly, the letter wasn’t from Ron. Harry’s messy handwriting was scrawled over the parchment, along with a copy of the front page of the Daily Prophet.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ If you haven’t seen the Prophet yet, here’s the clipping. Seeing as it’s the Prophet, I figure it’s not true, but Ron isn’t so easily convinced. To ease his mind, would you mind just sending a letter back confirming it’s a lie?  _

_ Thanks a bunch, _

_ Harry _

Hermione almost laughed at the request. Send a message to Ron? For what? To assure him of something she’d already told him?

She crammed the note in the pocket of her trousers and shook her head. No. She wouldn’t waste her efforts writing another letter, soothing ickle Ronnykins’s wounded ego. They were adults, so she should expect her friend to act like one.

On her way down from the owlery, Hermione spied a hooded figure standing on the astronomy tower across the castle, their cloak flapping in the wind. Even from afar, there was something strange about the person. Something oddly familiar.

As they started to turn towards her, Hermione felt the inexplicable urge to hide. Not one to question her instincts, honed to sense danger, she dropped to the ground. A sharp pain shot through her hip at the impact, but she didn’t dare cry out.

Keeping her movements as silent and quick as she could, Hermione dragged herself closer to the edge of the owlery tower, peering through the darkness to the astronomy tower. The person had turned completely towards her, now, but she was relieved to find that it hadn’t spotted her. From the safety of the ground, she took the opportunity to study the figure.

It wasn’t a Dementor, thankfully. No, this creature had two legs and stood as a human did. But its eyes…

Even from far away, Hermione felt her heart tighten painfully as she looked into the creature's eyes. It was fear and terror and pure, undeniable evil. The scar on her forearm began to burn.

Then, as quickly as it had materialized, the creature disappeared in a hiss of wind. So swiftly, Hermione wondered if she’d just imagined it.

Numb, she stood up from the ground. Cast the proper sneaking enchantments based almost on muscle memory alone and started walking back to Gryffindor tower. 

She dug her nails into her palms, assuring herself she wasn’t dreaming. She had seen the figure on the tower. Had seen what was in its eyes. Almost like…

No. No, her paranoia wasn’t real. It wasn’t. When she felt like she’d touched a Horcrux, it was just her mind playing tricks on her. An aftereffect of everything that had happened during what was supposed to be her seventh year. 

Voldemort couldn’t be alive. Because that would mean they didn’t win. That would mean they weren’t safe - and that they had never been.

She heard Filch talking to Mrs. Norris as she strode past the Great Hall, but Hermione only wrapped her arms around her stomach. If the Squib saw her, he would only see empty space thanks to the charms she’d cast. 

Bellatrix’s wand grew warm in her hand, and Hermione knew it was begging to be used. Begging to go to the astronomy tower and kill the figure that had caused her such inexplicable horror. But she wouldn’t. 

She’d seen enough death in her lifetime. Voldemort or not, she wouldn’t be responsible for another. At least, not tonight.

To Hermione’s surprise, the candle was lit and Ginny was awake when she returned. Her fiery hair was a matted mess atop her head, but her features were solemn.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a real arse.”

Hermione reached for her satchel and pulled out a brush. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure you’re not the only arse in Hogwarts.” The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat behind Ginny and reached for a large chunk of her hair.

Ginny didn’t so much as flinch as Hermione worked the brush through her tangles. During the war, that was how they checked in with one another. Cleaning the blood out of each other’s hair, tying it up so they could jump back into action. It was the only real break they had from the fighting.

Shoulders sagging, Ginny put her hands over her face. “I just...I’ve missed you, ‘Mione. So much. And you were with Ron, and then you weren’t, and it was so sudden I didn’t know what to think. So when the Prophet came out…”

Gently, Hermione brushed through a particularly nasty clump of tangles. “It’s hard to know what to believe when everything seems to be a lie,” she said. “Breaking up with Ron...That might have seemed sudden to you. To me, it was only a matter of time.”

“Why? Did you...did you not like him anymore?”

“It was a lot of different things.” Hermione found herself shrugging before she realized Ginny couldn’t see her. “There were things he did during the war, and even after, that I couldn’t do anything about. He wouldn’t let me help him.”

Ginny moved closer to Hermione, the brush moving from the ends of her hair to her roots. “Does Malfoy let you help him?” she asked.

Hermione the reluctance in her voice. As a friend, Ginny wanted her to be happy. But that deep-rooted bias, that animosity between the Weasleys and the Malfoys that extended through generations…

“Malfoy doesn’t ask questions,” said Hermione, focusing on the task in front of her. “He’s content to sit with me quietly and just...be there. Stand beside me. And that’s what I need right now.”

“So he’s your friend?” Ginny asked incredulously. 

Hermione put down her brush, biting back a huff of irritation. “You could say that.” Though she didn’t exactly consider Malfoy a friend. They were the same. Two children forced into battle, each fighting for a different side. Coming together in silent assurance, helping one another in different ways. He listened to her, spoke to her. And she stood up for him against the prejudice of the Ministry, of the public.

The brush clutched in her hand, she stood from Ginny’s bed. “We should sleep,” she said, putting the brush away.

Head falling back onto her pillow, Ginny murmured her agreement. “Where’d you go tonight?” From the slur to her words, she was already falling asleep.

The figure from the astronomy tower flashed through Hermione’s mind. Voldemort’s ghost, perhaps, coming back to haunt her. Or maybe...maybe it was something more. Another Horcrux.

“Just needed some time to think,” she answered, blowing out the candle and climbing into bed. 

She needed to get into the Restricted Section. Needed to make sure that she, Harry, and Ron had truly completed their mission. That every bit of the Dark Lord’s soul had been destroyed. Because even if they had missed one little thing, it could mean the end of peace. The end of safety for wizards everywhere.

Hermione slept with Bellatrix’s wand pressed to her sternum, just in case her nightmares came to life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Voldy, long time no see!
> 
> <3 Katie


	11. Of Duels and Deals

Herbology the next day was an absolute bore, as was Muggle Studies. Hermione spent her free period studying the wards around the Restricted Section, searching for a loophole in the defenses. She made no progress before it was time for her last class - Defense Against the Dark Arts.

To Hermione’s shock, Percy Weasley was standing before the chalkboard. Seeing as there was no one else in the classroom yet, she hefted her satchel closer to her and approached his desk.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She tried to sound kind, but it came off as more agitated than anything.

Percy finished scrawling his name over the board, along with the title of the lesson plan -  _ Effective Spells for Disarming -  _ and glanced at her. Dark circles hung under his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Hogwarts needed a new professor.”

Hermione crossed her arms. Percy had never like Hogwarts - had considered most of its ideals foolish. Last she’d heard, he was working tirelessly alongside Scrimgeour, searching for the last traces of the Dark Arts. 

Mind racing, she made her way to the back of the classroom, selecting a seat closest to the window. She found that she was more aware of the surroundings from the back, where she could see everything and everyone. Percy had his back to her, so Hermione took the chance to study him. 

Even after Fred’s death, Percy had committed himself to the Ministry’s cause. And while cleaning up the mess of Voldemort’s forces was a noble cause, Hermoine sensed a sort of wrongness about him. Just like Ron, like George, Percy didn’t talk about anything that had happened. But while Ron and George simply kept their feelings bottled up, Hermione had the nagging suspicion that Percy was finding his own comfort in the Ministry, in the power it held - just or not. And that was a dangerous road to go down.

The other students included Neville, Ginny, and Luna. Though Hermione didn’t mind their company, she was glad that they only waved at her and took their seats in the front of the classroom. 

Percy had only started introducing himself when Malfoy entered the room, books tucked under his arm. His blond hair was ruffled and out of place, and his clothes were streaked with dirt. Hermione’s fingers sought the comfort of Bellatrix’s wand, especially when she saw his split lip.

Upon seeing Percy, Malfoy straightened almost imperceptibly. His posture still held that grace of royalty despite his state of disarray. “Sorry I’m late, Professor,” he said calmly, ducking his head in Percy’s direction.

Percy’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Five points from Slytherin,” he snapped back.

A groan rose from the right side of the room, where most of the Slytherin students had congregated. Malfoy shot them a stern look, and they quieted. Without a word of protest, he approached the back of the classroom, slipping into the seat beside Hermione.

She glared at Percy, biting back a nasty jinx, How could he be so ignorant? It was clear Malfoy had been roughed up - probably by some passionate Gryffindors who hadn’t forgiven him for his wrongs - but the Weasley acted as though the boy was nothing. No matter that Malfoy was younger than Percy, or that he was under Percy’s charge. 

Most of the class passed without incident, though Hermione had to remind herself time and time again not to snap at Percy. At the Burrow, it had been fine to call out the easily influenced man on his folly, but now that he was a professor, she had to act more respectfully towards him. That didn’t stop her from gripping her quill tighter with every condescending comment the professor made. There were a few times where she felt she might snap her quill clean in half. 

With ten minutes left in class, Percy announced a new activity. One that didn’t involve listening and taking notes. “After the events of these past few years - events I’m sure you’re all aware of - the Headmistress believed it would be best to start your wand training young. As a member of the Ministry myself, I believe this is a horrible idea, but,” he rolled his eyes, “the Headmistress demands it.”

His eyes began to scan the class, and Hermione recognized the act. He was looking for a volunteer. Someone he could drag to the front of the class and force to obey his instructions. She was relieved to find several other wizards had flung up their hands - even Ginny.

But Percy paid them no attention. His gaze fell on her, and Hermione’s heart dropped. “Miss Granger. You, out of all people, must know more about dueling than any other. Come and join me.”

For a moment, Hermione didn’t move. She didn’t want to fight, especially not in front of a dozen other students. They could all bear witness to her anxiety. But Percy was staring expectantly at her with that entitled smirk, and she knew she had to put him in his place.

Slowly, she rose from her desk. Summoning as much confidence as she could, Hermione drew Bellatrix’s wand from her hair and stalked toward the front of the class, the scuffle of her shoes the only sound in the room. She didn’t bother to hide her glower as she took her place across from Percy, her back to the door of the classroom.

Percy’s brows flicked up at her wand, but he folded his hands behind his back. “As professor, I’m grossly over qualified to duel Miss Granger,” he almost sneered. “Mister Malfoy. Step forward.”

Unlike Hermione, Malfoy wasn’t nearly as hesitant. His features remained cold as he stood from his desk, ignoring the snickering that echoed through the class. It seemed Hermione’s request to ignore the rumors of the Prophet hadn’t been well received.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ginny was glaring daggers at her brother. Clearly she felt the same as Hermione in the situation. Forcing two wizards fresh from off the battlefields to duel one another, especially in a Hogwarts classroom, was like asking them to relive their worst nightmares. 

“The duel ends when one of you is disarmed,” said Percy, as calmly as if he were speaking to two children. “Begin.”

Her hand shook as Hermione lifted her wand - slowly, so she didn’t cause a panic, either her own or Malfoy’s. He did the same, his intelligent eyes seeming to note her every move. 

“Expelliarmus,” she said. Malfoy’s wordless defense charm reduced her spell to dust. Hermione drew in a shaky breath.

His voice was lower than hers. “Stupefy.” On instinct, she slashed Bellatrix’s wand over her chest, deflecting the enchantment.

Their steady breathing seemed to be the only noise in the room. 

Hermione wanted nothing more than to sprint out the door, to run from the fight. But it was not fear that made her hesitant. Rather, it was the darkness wound inside of her. Because she wanted to kill him.

Not disarm him, not incapacitate. Kill. “Avada Kedavra” rose unbidden to her lips, and it was an effort not to speak the curse. It wasn’t because he was Malfoy - it wasn’t because he’d fought for Voldemort. During the war, the Killing Curse was the most effective. At this point, it was instinctual. 

But Hermione did her best to ignore that instinct, instead flinging lesser hexes and enchantments at Malfoy, all of which he managed to deflect. It was a cautious, reluctant dance of attacking and defending, with neither side willing to be defeated, but neither wanting to win. Bellatrix’s wand warmed in her hand.

The urge to speak those damning words, to kill her opponent, was almost irresistible. Still she held the thoughts at bay, forcing herself to concentrate on the lesser curses. Malfoy looked as uncomfortable as she felt, every hex he threw at her weaker than the last. He wanted this to end as much as she did.

“Confundo.” Hermione flicked her wand, and Malfoy just barely ducked out of the way. 

A sort of challenge leapt into his gaze. “Levicorpus,” he said, and it was Hermione’s turn to swerve away.

They were progressing from the basic spells to those that could actually cause harm. If that’s what Percy wanted…

Bellatrix’s wand begged Hermione to use the Killing curse. “Petrificus totalus,” she said instead. 

Malfoy deflected the spell, but she wasn’t done. She couldn’t be done - not until the enemy had been effectively dealt with. “Sectumsempra,” she hissed. Red sparks flew from her wand, and Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in focus. 

He dodged the curse, but a few of the students gasped in horror. Sectumsempra - a vicious spell. Not normally used for dueling, but for maiming. For war. What Hermione had trained for almost all her life.

This was no longer a duel. It was a battle.

The screech of a chair sliding back scraped over Hermione’s ears. “Percy, stop!” shouted Ginny, hands balled at her sides. Percy’s focus, though, was fixed on the duel before him.

Hermione shoved Malfoy’s returning curse away, the urge to kill growing with every passing second. Stop - she had to stop before she hurt him. Bellatrix’s wand grew warm in her hand, readying itself to perform the curse. 

“No,” she said between gritted teeth. So much effort - it took so much effort for Hermione to slide the wand behind her ear, to pull herself out of the duel. 

Malfoy stared at her quizzically, his own wand shaking. For a moment, she thought he might take advantage of her and hex her, but he, too, slipped his wand away. It was just them, now. No wands, no magic.

“Class dismissed,” said Percy. 

Malfoy gave Hermione the same questioning glance before he moved back towards his desk, leaving her alone. She swallowed down the bloodthirsty adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Ginny followed the current of students, immediately darting for Hermione, but her brother raised a hand. “Miss Granger stays. I need to talk to her.”

“No,” Ginny retorted, her grip on Hermione’s wrist tightening. Her freckles had melted into the angry redness of her face. 

But Hermione faced Percy, jaw clenched. “Make either of us do something like that again, and I won’t put my wand away so easily,” she seethed, nodding to the place Malfoy had stood only moments before. 

“The other students needed an example to learn from.” Percy walked around his desk, speaking as though he was reciting the words from a textbook. “And I needed to scope out the true  _ experience  _ of the class.”

A thought dawned on Hermione, like ice water poured down her back. Scrimgeour had asked her to spy on Malfoy, to keep the Minister updated on everything about the boy. And Percy - Percy who preferred the morals of the Ministry over the morals of his own family - would do anything to win Scrimgeour’s approval. 

Hermione’s gaze on Percy hardened. “Stay away from Malfoy,” she spat. “And stay away from me. Outside of this class, I don’t want to see you, speak to you, or anything that involves being around you. If you call me to the front of the room again…” She lifted a hand to Bellatrix’s wand. “This wand has cast several killing curses. It won’t hurt to cast another.”

Percy’s pointed features pinched at the threat. “I hope you realize what you’re insinuating, Hermione. I have orders from the Ministry-”

“Screw the Ministry,” she snapped, and would have said more before Ginny was smart enough to drag her out of the room. Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t wrench herself from the Chaser’s grip.  _ Bloody Quidditch players and their bloody strength. _

As soon as they were out of view of the classroom, Ginny whispered, “What was that?”

Still fuming, Hermione was finally able to escape Ginny’s grasp. “Nothing, it was nothing,” she muttered, too lost in her own thoughts to trust herself to compile a coherent sentence. There was another Horcrux out there, and yet the Ministry was wasting their efforts in investigating a teenage boy who had already been cleared of all charges. 

Ginny’s round eyes were suspicious, but she only said, “Quidditch tryouts are starting in a few minutes. Care to come with me?”

Mutely, Hermione nodded. Sitting on the bleachers with just herself and her books sounded nice, especially after the altercation with Percy. Besides, how long had it been since she’d last stepped foot outside?

A breeze blew across the grounds, blowing Hermione’s hair every which way. She regretted not tying it up this morning, but that was the least of her worries. Especially when she caught movement in the treeline of the Forbidden Forest.

Ginny walked on toward the Quidditch field, not noticing Hermione’s face pale. Bellatrix’s wand heated the top of her ear, and she quickly drew it. She couldn’t make out the figure’s features, but those glistening eyes were like a knife to her heart. A sharp pain spread through her chest, her scar, her mind.

And then it was gone. Like a morning fog lifting away from the grass. 

Drawing in a sharp breath, Hermione cast a revealing hex in the spot she’d seen the cloaked figure. Nothing. The analysis charm came back innocent, with no signs of dark magic.

She wanted to relax, but she couldn’t. Not when something seemed to be following her around Hogwarts - something with malicious intentions. She settled for keeping the wand in her hand as she walked over the freshly cut grass, headed for the Quidditch grounds.

At least she’d abandoned those itchy skirts she’d worn for most of her previous years of study. Trousers were a nice change of pace, though she often got nasty looks from the female students. No doubt it was strange to see a witch in pants when they were only used to skirts and dresses, and the Muggle pants she wore were tighter than those of the boys. Still, she couldn’t find it in her to care.

Ginny glanced over her shoulder, brows creased in an “Are you okay?” look. Hermione responded with a flippant gesture, and the Weasley shot into the sky to join the other warlocks flying on their brooms.

She pulled a strand of hair out of the corner of her mouth, courtesy of the winds whipping at her clothes. Perfect flying weather, perhaps, but annoying for those on the ground. 

Someone yelled something, and Hermione’s gaze snapped across the field. Malfoy was standing under the flock of green-robed Slytherin players. He shouted something to them - instructions, perhaps. Sure enough, the athletes rearranged their formation into a shape more angular, more aerodynamic. Malfoy gave them a short, satisfied nod, hands propped on his hips. Hermione wondered if coaching Quidditch was one of the “obligations” he was forced to comply to in order to stay at Hogwarts.

She sought shelter from the brutal winds in the barrier at the very edge of the bleachers and carefully unpacked her satchel. While Ginny flew above her head, probably outflying all of Gryffindor tower, Hermione busied herself in her classwork. Setting up her inkpot and open textbooks was beyond annoying, but she welcomed the distraction. Anything to keep her from going back to that classroom and murdering Percy Weasley.

An hour or so passed, and Hermione was done with her work. Bugger. As nice as it was to be a fast worker, she needed something to keep her preoccupied. Thoughts of the terrifying figure swam in her mind, and she swallowed.

The creak of metal sounded beside her. Malfoy smiled up at her apologetically, continuing his climb onto the bleachers. “I didn’t know you were interested in Quidditch,” he said, sitting on the bench a few feet away. The winds ruffled through his hair, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was staring at the players rocketing through the sky.

“I’m not, but Ginny is,” said Hermione. She supposed she should be annoyed that Malfoy had come to ruin the quiet, but at least she wasn’t left alone with her tangled web of thoughts. “Is coaching one of the things McGonagall requires of you?”

He leaned back on his hands. “Yes, and one of the tasks I quite enjoy. After... everything that happened, I got my flying license revoked. So this is the closest I can get to actually being up there,” he said, jerking his chin towards the players. 

His eyes were filled with something Hermione had rarely seen on his face. Hope. Want. Perhaps a mixture of both. Ironic that he was now the one so full of light, and she was so full of dark.

“I’m sorry I attacked you,” she said softly.

Malfoy’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “The Professor asked you to.”

She took Bellatrix’s wand from behind her ear and twisted it around her fingers. “Yes, but I went beyond the usual realm of dueling spells. I…”  _ Almost killed you.  _

“I don’t blame you,” said Malfoy when Hermione fell silent. His face was so annoyingly serene, as if it had been hewn from marble. “You did what you had to. And so did I.”

She had the nagging feeling that Malfoy wasn’t just referring to the duel.

“The Minister approached me about you,” Hermione said, turning so she was facing the boy. He didn’t move from his seat, though his inquisitive gaze sought hers. “He asked me to spy on you for him and the Ministry.”

Malfoy blinked once. “Is that why you’re here, Granger? To spy on me?” She sensed a resigned sadness in his tone, as if he’d been expecting her to find him as horrible as the others did.

“No. Of course not,” she said. “But that was why our pictures appeared in the Prophet. Because he threatened me with them.”

“So it was either spy on me or have your personal business printed in the paper?” When Hermione nodded, Malfoy barked a laugh. “How very  _ political  _ of him. Not like our personal lives have already been made known to the public,” he muttered, chuckling wryly.

Hermione found herself bitterly agreeing with him. She wondered how much effort it would take to have the Minister replaced. Probably more than the community was willing to make. 

“What I’m saying is that the Minister isn’t going to halt his ‘covert’ investigation on you just because I refused. You need to be careful,” she warned. The winds picked up, and Hermione folded her arms over her chest to conserve heat. 

Malfoy sighed. “I’ll take it into account. It’s getting hard to keep track of all the people who want me dead. Perhaps I’ll have to keep a record,” he mused, feigning sincerity.

Hermione scoffed. “No piece of parchment, magical or otherwise, would be big enough to fit all those names.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Malfoy. His head tilted to the side, as if in thought. 

If Voldemort was truly out there, if they’d missed one of the Horcruxes in the search to end his uprising, Hermione wondered if Malfoy would be affected by it. He had been, after all, a Death Eater - Dark Mark on his arm and all. Had the Mark changed in any way? Did Malfoy feel the pull toward the Dark Arts?

She stared at him as he watched the athletes dancing through the air, trying to read his face, his posture. There were abnormalities in his nose that hadn’t been there before, an odd bump over the bridge. The result of a broken nose, she believed at least twice. 

The bags under his eyes had disappeared, and the cut over his cheek had healed nicely. No matter what anyone thought of him, Malfoy could never be considered unattractive. Far from it. Hermione had overheard the giggling conversations of some of the girls as she walked down the halls. How he was handsome, tall, strong. Odd thing was, she had never seen anyone approach him. His reputation as a Death Eater, it seemed, scared them away.

Malfoy didn’t seem bothered by it, though. In fact, Hermione had rarely seen him bothered. It was as if a calm, quiet person had taken Polyjuice potion and stolen his face - that was how drastically different he acted. 

Catching her staring, he turned. Hermione fought the flush creeping up her neck, turning the embarrassment into a half-hearted glare. “Something you need, Granger?” he asked, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Something. She had to think of something to turn his attention away from the fact that she had been watching him - rather intently, too.

“The Restricted Section,” she blurted, the first thing that sprang to her mind. “Do you...are you familiar with the protective wards cast around it?”

Malfoy leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “A bit,” he admitted. “Though not as much as others.”

“I need the information inside, but the wards are incredibly complex,” she explained, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. 

Head cocked, Malfoy’s jaw tensed. “How so?”

“Well, they’re cemented to block out every single sort of living creature. Wizard, animal, vampire - everything. The usual ward-breaking charms are useless against it.” Hermione huffed, squeezing her arms tighter around herself. “At this point, I have no other ideas.”

Malfoy made a thoughtful sound, and she turned her gaze to him. Ideas flickered to life in his silver eyes. “What if,” he said slowly, “it was something in between?”

“In between?”

“Not quite something, but not quite something else,” he continued, then shut his mouth. 

Hermione opened her mouth to press him further, but the sound of a thousand flapping robes cracked through the air, the Quidditch players landing on the field. Ginny’s eyes were locked on Hermione, alight with curiosity at her proximity to Malfoy.

“I have an idea that might work, but we shouldn’t discuss it here,” he murmured, leaning a little closer to her so they couldn’t be easily heard. “Meet me on the astronomy tower. Tonight, one o’clock. If you don’t show up, I’ll just assume you had better things to do.” He finished with a quick wink before returning to the other Slytherins, the bleachers creaking under his steps.

Thinking over his words, Hermione set herself to work putting her books away. Ginny was upon her a few minutes later, undoing the straps over her flying gloves.

“I’m not going to ask,” she said as Hermione fastened the clasp on her satchel. “Just...be careful. With Malfoy.”

Hermione gave her a tight smile. “I’m always careful, Gin,” she said, tugging on the redhead’s messy braid as she walked past. She only prayed the figure from before wouldn’t reappear on the astronomy tower tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i just putting them in situations to bring them closer together?  
> duh  
> will it take a turn that results in pain and possibly death?  
> ...  
> also duh
> 
> <3 katie


	12. Of Sightings and Proposals

Ginny didn’t stir as Hermione crept out of their room. Whether she was faking sleep or just snoring too loudly to hear her, Hermione was grateful. It was one less thing to worry about.

But when she got to the common room, Neville was reading on the couch. His focused expression broke into a grin when he saw her. “I didn’t know anyone else was up,” he said, so completely and utterly innocent. 

_ Neither did I,  _ thought Hermione grimly. Neville’s Prefect badge gleamed on his robes, and her dread grew tenfold. Neville was many things, but he was not a rule-breaker. And now that McGonagall had trusted him with the Prefect position, she doubted his loyalty to the Headmistress could be swayed in the slightest. But his loyalty to Hermione...that could be utilized.

“I just need to get some air,” she said, her hands moving to clutch at her stomach. She did her best to look nauseous, swallowing as if bile was already climbing up her throat.

Neville’s easy expression dropped, and he stood from the couch. “Why don’t you, ah, just run to the toilets?” he suggested, a note of panicked urgency creeping into his tone. 

Screwing her features in distress, Hermione squeaked out, “It would be best for me to just go outside. I can’t stand being trapped in these walls, and I think a nice walk is exactly what I need. Oh, Neville,  _ please  _ don’t tell anyone - it’s so embarrassing.” 

“Um, alright,” said Neville carefully. “Do you want me to-”

“No, no, I’ll be fine alone. If I get caught, this never happened,” she added with a solemn nod.

“I’ll wait up for you,” he said as she turned toward the exit. 

Hermione didn’t look back at him, afraid it would betray her true intentions. The painting opened easily, and she was out before she had time to process what she’d done. Merlin, now the  _ Prefect  _ knew. Another issue she’d have to solve when she returned.

Casting the proper concealing charms was easy, and soon she was stalking through the corridor. She’d left her shoes in the dormitories, and the cool of the stone floors was seeping through her socks. Better numbing discomfort than the loud clack of shoes. 

Hermine didn’t know what changed when she started down the hallway leading to the astronomy tower. The air around her seemed to get...thicker, somehow. The silence of the castle turned eerie, and a chill skittered down her spine. 

Bellatrix’s wand was in her hand immediately.

Probably just a ghost trying to scare her - Peeves had been suspiciously quiet for the past few days - but she couldn’t be too careful. She caught a large figure stepping out of the shadows of one of the intersecting hallways, and she let out a relieved breath at the sight of Malfoy. 

That relief drained away when she saw his face had paled, his eyes darting nervously around the corridor. “Did you feel that?” he murmured, so quietly Hermione barely heard him.

“Yes,” she breathed, stepping closer to him but keeping her eyes on the empty hallways. That fearful sensation she’d felt in the owlery, by the forest...it had returned. 

She stared down the hallway, dumbfounded by the sight. The ratty cloak, guttural growling, those glowing, horrid eyes that spoke of death and despair. The creature had returned. And its arms reached towards her and Malfoy.

“Run,” she hissed, shoving Malfoy in the direction of the astronomy tower. He didn’t bother arguing and sprinted for the spiral staircase, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was keeping up with his long strides.

Hermione scrambled for purchase over the smooth floors, her socked feet sliding this way and that. After the third time she stumbled, Malfoy reached back and gripped her elbow, hauling her in front of him. “Go go go,” he breathed, pushing her up the stairs with one hand and grabbing at the cracked banister with the other. 

Chilling terror weighed over her heart, but she didn’t dare loosen her grip on Bellatrix’s wand. She hated being in front of Malfoy - it would be far harder to protect him if the creature chose to leap at his back - but she forced herself faster up the stairs. 

Not much farther, now - the opening of the tower was only a few meters ahead. But Hermione heard that awful hissing, the brush of a cloak over the steps, and she couldn’t keep running.

Malfoy almost ran into her when she skidded to a halt and whipped around. “Keep going,” she said, doing her best to force him further up the stairs. The stubborn ferret that he was, Malfoy didn’t budge.

Hermione glimpsed the creature peeking its head around the curve of the staircase. Stepping in front of Malfoy, she leveled her wand at the creature and said, “Avada Kedavra.”

Red light shot into the creature’s chest, but rather than keeling over, dead, the figure disintegrated into ash. As if it had never been there to begin with.

And Hermione...what had she done? An Unforgivable Curse - she uttered an Unforgivable Curse in Hogwarts. She killed someone. Willingly. The most horrible thing was...she didn’t feel guilty. She felt validated and smugly satisfied, but not guilty. As if there was an empty space where her heart was meant to be.

“Granger.” Malfoy’s soft voice. Malfoy was still here - he had seen her murder the creature. What would he say to her? Would he report her? Was she to be imprisoned in Azkaban? 

Hesitantly, she turned to him. His studious gaze pinned her to the spot, his mouth a tight line. But Malfoy didn’t look horrified, or scared of her. In fact, he seemed surprised. As if he couldn’t believe what he’d seen but he wasn’t angry about it.

Slowly, she tucked the wand behind her ear and folded her arms to hide the shaking of her hands. “Let’s go,” she said blankly, eyes hard as she climbed the remaining stairs.

The sky in the Wizarding World was so different from that of the Muggle World. Back in Muggle London, the air was clogged with pollution and gases and disgusting substances that blocked the stars. But in Hogwarts, in Diagon Alley, the universe above her head was so, utterly real. Streaks of the colorful galaxies over her head, the glow of the full moon, the sheer beauty of the world beyond. If she was being honest, it was one of the best things about being a witch.

Quietly, Hermione lowered herself to the ground of the astronomy tower, ignoring the sharpness of the stone at her back. Malfoy followed her example, positioning himself a safe distance away. Close enough for her to reach to him if she wanted to, but far enough to give her space. His head tipped back against the wall, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

The questions hung unanswered in the air as the two warlocks sat in the tower, trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened. Malfoy was the first to speak.

“I assume my aunt’s wand remains unregistered,” he said slowly.

Hermione nodded, fingers subconsciously brushing over the wand. “Yes. And unless anyone heard me, which I doubt they did, you and I are the only ones who witnessed it.” She looked at him, tilting her head in question.

“I will say,” said Malfoy after a terse pause, “I’m surprised that was the first spell you chose.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she said, “After you spend an entire year running for your life, you find it far more useful to permanently incapacitate your enemy rather than give them the chance to capture and torture you.”

Malfoy’s eyes went to her forearm - only for an instant before he caught himself and looked away. Hermione glared at him and pulled her arm closer to her. It was her scar and hers alone. No one else had a right to look at it. Or to touch it, as Ron had.

“What was that?” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Malfoy or to herself.

His hand went to his wrist. “I don’t know. Something...evil.”

So he had felt it, too. The wrongness of the creature. 

Hermione toyed with the ends of her hair, resisting the urge to chew it. A nasty habit she had picked up in Fourth Year. “Voldemort.” Malfoy flinched at the name, but quickly composed himself. “Do you think...is it possible there’s another Horcrux out there? One we didn’t destroy?”

“I think it’s possible,” he said. The muscles in his fingers twitched at his sides. “If you’re asking whether or not he’s called me through my mark, I can assure you he hasn’t.”

“Would you know if he was still alive?” she asked, still tugging on her hair.

Malfoy’s throat bobbed, and he leaned forward a bit, his gaze fixed on the world beyond Hogwarts. “The mark...he hasn’t called me. None of the other Death Eaters have called me, but I can feel this force pulling at me. Yanking at the mark as if it’s an anchor of some sort.” He drew his hands together, cracking his knuckles with an absent expression. “But that creature that was chasing us... The closer it got to me, the more frantic the tugging was.”

“So it could be Voldemort,” said Hermione, mouth dry.

“Or it could be nothing.” Judging by the waver in his voice, Malfoy wasn’t completely ignoring the idea. “Is that why you want to get into the Restricted Section? To research Horcruxes and see if you missed one?” he asked, turning towards her.

She let out a shuddering breath. “Yes. Yes, I thought...I’ve had a feeling ever since all the madness stopped that it hadn’t truly ended. But I wrote it off as paranoia - which is to be expected after a war. Then I saw that  _ thing _ , and, well…”

Malfoy had gone still, his steady gaze locked on hers. “You’ve seen it before?”

“Last night. It was on the astronomy tower, and then it vanished. I saw it again in the Forbidden Forest, before Quidditch.” She shivered. “It’s as if it’s following me.

“And the Killing Curse didn’t work on it.” Hermione knew she was rambling, now, but she had to get the thoughts out of her mind before they fully consumed her. “It’ll come back. I think it must be a ghost or something, but evil. Can Voldemort have a ghost? Can he find his own Horcrux and...and come back?”

Before she could work herself into an absolute frenzy, she crossed her legs beneath her and leaned forward, gulping in lungfuls of the clear night air. Though she couldn’t see Malfoy, she sensed his eyes on her.

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly. “You’ll need a Death Eater, anyway, in case Voldemort is truly still alive. Besides, I’m curious about whatever is going on with my - the Dark Mark.”

Steeling her nerves, Hermione brushed the hair away from her face and straightened to face him. Right, he had an idea. That was the entire reason she’d agreed to meet him on the tower. “What idea did you want to discuss?” she asked, colder than before.

Malfoy stared at her for a moment. His hand went to his pocket, and he withdrew the same book Hermione had given him. “On the way here, I did a little investigating on my own to figure out the nature of the enchantments on the Restricted Section. You were right - they banned every specific living creature.”

“But you said something about ‘not quite something, but not quite something else’,” said Hermione, crossing her arms impatiently. “What were you talking about?”

He slid the borrowed book over the ground, and she caught it before it hit her thigh. “Look at the marked pages,” he said.

Throwing him a wary glance, Hermione opened the book to the page bookmarked with Lucius’s arrest. However surprised she was that Malfoy was willingly letting her see it, she didn’t let it show on her face. Her eyes drifted over the page on giants, landing on…

“Animagi?” She found his cool gaze resting on her face, probably reading her reaction.

“Not quite an animal, not quite a wizard,” he said, a hint of triumph creeping into his features. “They’re rare enough that the professors didn’t bother casting a charm to block them out, and since the Headmistress herself is an Animagus, it’s probably convenient that she doesn’t have to untangle the wards every time she goes searching for a book.”

Hermione cursed under her breath. It was clever. So clever, she hated herself for not realizing sooner. “Becoming an Animagus means registering with the Ministry, and I have no intentions of going back to that place for at least the next decade,” she said. “I’ll have to find an Animagus who’s willing to go in there and get what I need.”

“ _ We _ . No way are you kicking me out of this now,” said Malfoy. Then he snorted. “And are you honestly going to let some stranger go in there, picking books at random, or do you want to go in there yourself to find what you need?”

He had a point. “Then what do you suggest? I become a criminal and risk going to Azkaban just to ensure the thought of another Horcrux is pure paranoia?” she snarled.

Malfoy huffed a wry laugh. Even in the dark, his skin was unbelievably pale, the skin over his collarbone matching that of his dress shirt. He crossed his ankles, folded hands settling on his stomach.

“The Ministry is too busy with their Death Eater pursuits to bother with an unregistered Animagus -  _ especially  _ if that Animagus is war hero Hermione Granger,” he said, one eyebrow raised as if to say  _ Obviously _ .

Hermione stared at the book in her hands, chewing the inside of her cheek. No one could say Slytherins weren’t clever, even if it meant tweaking the law a bit. Then again, if the law was instituted by pigs like Rufus Scrimgeour, she didn’t mind breaking it.

“But,” Malfoy raised his chin a centimeter, drawing on that regal nature he and his family seemed to value so much, “I get to become an Animagus with you.”

Her response was immediate. “Absolutely not,” she ground out. It was hard enough to process herself stepping around the law, but Malfoy… “If you’re caught, there will be no such thing as a fair trial. You’ll be shipped directly to Azkaban, no questions asked.”

To her surprise, there was no fear that flashed through his serene features. Only a content sort of amusement. “You’re forgetting my past, Granger. I’ve gotten quite good at hiding criminal activities behind this beautiful face of mine.”

“Yes, because you look so innocent.” Despite the savagery of her tone, a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. “Seriously, you can’t really be willing to do this,” she said. The moment Scrimgeour found out what he was up to, the Minister would show no mercy. And Hermione wasn’t sure she could protect him from the might of the wizarding government.

He shrugged. “There are many things I’ve done unwillingly,” he said, words taut with caution, as though trying not to let something slip, “but this is not one of them. Besides, if the information we find in the Restricted Section does indeed point to the possibility of Voldemort still being alive, I’d like to be the first to know.”

Hermione pretended not to notice the way his hand had drifted to his forearm, to the tattoo hiding beneath his sleeve. She couldn’t imagine Voldemort’s resurrection would do anything but harm him further - him and everyone else in the wizarding world.

“It says here we need Mandrake leaves,” she read from the book he’d given her. “We have to keep it in our mouths from one full moon to the next. And that’s only half of it.”

Malfoy rummaged through his pocket for a few seconds, then held out his fist to her. One by one, his fingers curled open, revealing the two identical leaves cupped in his palm. At her stunned look, he raised an eyebrow. “Slytherin, remember? I came prepared.”

Gingerly, she took one of the leaves from him, examining it in the dim light. The light of the full moon, she realized. “A sticking charm would probably be best. That way it would rest under our tongues without much effort,” she mused.

He squinted up into the stars. “Well, tonight’s as good a start as any,” he said and dropped the leaf into his mouth. His enchantment was somewhat muffled, but the charm seemed to work. He looked at her expectantly. Rolling her eyes, Hermione cast an identical charm and pressed the leaf to the bottom of her mouth.

The leaf was flexible enough that it wasn’t poking into her tongue, but it wasn’t comfortable. It took her a few moments to figure out which way to best rest her tongue over it, another few to convince herself not to simply spit the leaf out. Animagus or not, pain was pain. It sucked.

Malfoy didn’t seem half as bothered by it. In fact, he looked rather amused by her reaction. She scowled.

“You didn’t come from the dungeons,” she said as a way of changing the subject. If he had, he would have been walking down the same corridor she had. 

His posture went rigid, and Malfoy straightened off the wall. “Obligations, remember?” He tugged on his Slytherin-green tie, eventually removing it completely and letting it drop to the ground. It looked like a limp, shiny snake on the tower floor. 

Her own tie hung loose enough to earn her sharp looks from the professors during the day, but she didn’t take it off. “What did McGonagall have you do?”

“Kitchen work with the house elves,” he said.

She was shocked at how nonchalant his tone was. A Malfoy stooping to work alongside house elves? Any sane person would have guessed the Malfoys would fight tooth and nail to keep from dragging their ego so deeply through the mud.

For a moment, she let herself imagine Malfoy elbow-deep in suds and warm water. Amusement flickered over her mouth.

Malfoy caught the look, and though he seemed to be fighting it, his expression soon matched her own. “Not a very dignified position, I know, but it has its perks. For example…”

He raised his hand, palm up, and a tray overflowing with food materialized over it. Placing the tray down as a barrier between them, he said, “You haven’t eaten a thing today.”

“Since when is it your place to critique my eating habits?” she asked, grabbing a piece of the walnut cake off the platter. Malfoy was an insufferable prick, but she was starving.

“Since you haven’t stepped foot in the Great Hall since we arrived.” He held up a hand, stopping her heated response. “I understand why, I’m just pointing out that your eating behavior isn’t difficult to figure out.”

Hermione found it hard to keep her sharp expression as she ate, draining her glass of pumpkin juice and reducing the full plate to crumbs. Thankfully, Malfoy seemed to be more interested in the constellations than her late dinner. Honestly, how long had he been staring at the sky?

Eventually, she had to say something. “What in Merlin’s name are you looking for?”

He seemed to startle at being caught, but he smothered it over with an easy expression. “Is it a crime to enjoy looking at the stars?” he said smoothly.

“Unless those stars are acting nefariously, I don’t believe so.”

With a mocking smile, Malfoy stood and brushed the grime off his hands. “Well, Granger, this has been lovely. I’ll see you at the next full moon, when you turn into a fluffy rabbit, or perhaps a puppy who can’t stop chasing their tail.” He snapped his fingers, and the empty plate she’d eaten off of disappeared. “Until then.” Oblivious to her murderous glare, Malfoy swiped his tie off the ground, slipped his hands cooly into his pockets, and started down the stairs.

Hermione stayed on the tower for only a few minutes before she, too, returned to her house’s dormitories. Neville was fast asleep on the couch, and she felt a twinge of guilt at making him wait up for her. All she could do was sling a spare blanket over his large body, curled up over the couch cushions, and trudge up the stairs to collapse into her own bed.

The Mandrake leaf didn’t taste or feel any better when she woke up.


	13. Of Schemes and Punishments

Ginny sat down on Hermione’s desk a few minutes before class started.

Looking up from her parchment - almost ruined by Ginny’s surprise visit - Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You need to come to my Quidditch game tomorrow,” said Ginny by way of greeting. “You’ve spent this entire week cooped up in the library or at your desk.”

That wasn’t entirely true. She’d also gone to the astronomy tower with Malfoy, but she wasn’t about to tell Ginny that.

Putting her quill down, Hermione gave a resigned nod. “Fine. I’ll come. But only if you stop sitting so close to my inkpot,” she said with a pointed look at the glass a few centimeters from Ginny’s hip.

The redhead smiled broadly. “Deal.” She gave Hermione a quick but tight hug and went back to her own desk.

Rolling her eyes at Ginny’s forwardness, she returned to her paper. Slughorn had been adamant that they learn every potions base that ever existed, though Hermione couldn't’ figure out the logic behind including phoenix urine to the list. It was almost impossible to obtain, and only a handful of potions required it - potions that were far beyond the capabilities of a Hogwarts student. She’d gotten used to professors assigning projects that made absolutely no sense. 

After all, what choice did she have in the matter? It was either do the work or fail. And Hermione Granger did not fail.

She felt someone’s gaze on her, and glanced up to find Percy studying her with pursed lips. When he saw her looking, he lifted his chin, and strode behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back in a  _ I’m better than you  _ posture. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

The Ministry was still watching Malfoy - she was sure of it. As Scrimgeour’s loyal mutt, Percy was her prime suspect. And based on the wary looks he was constantly giving her throughout class, he knew it, too. 

The indecency of it all made her want to reach for her wand and hex the entire Ministry. Maybe there were some good warlocks working in the government, but the same government had been responsible for so many deaths, directly or not. Even when Harry had discovered Voldemort had been resurrected, no one at the Ministry had believed him. 

Hermione didn’t realize she was still glaring at Percy and the government he represented until Malfoy cleared his throat beside her. She hadn’t seen him sit at his desk, hadn’t heard him get out all his things and lay them over the desk.

His head was tilted in silent question, and Hermione shook her head dismissively. They hadn’t truly spoken since the astronomy tower aside from the civil interaction in class. Still, she was sure to keep an eye on him. After the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, when he’d entered looking as though he’d been through a fight, she’d kept him in her sights - direct and indirect. Ginny had begrudgingly agreed to ensure he wasn’t being tormented when Hermione couldn’t, as had Neville and Luna. 

She could still recall the fear of the students’ faces in the Gryffindor common room when she’d described exactly what she’d do to anyone caught roughing up Malfoy. Even the Seven Years had paled when faced with Hermione’s hissed threats.

“Open your textbooks to page 127, labeled ‘Complex Hexes and their Realistic Uses’,” said Percy. The fluttering of pages filled the room as the students scrambled to find the section.

They were moving far too quickly through the course, Hermione knew, but she hadn’t said anything. She found her energy more drained than usual, which probably had something to do with her messed up eating schedule, but she couldn’t be bothered to fix that. A house elf always appeared around nine o’clock at night with a loaded plate of food and large glasses of juice and water, courtesy of Malfoy’s incessant nagging. It was enough to keep her moving, and that was all Hermione needed at the moment.

Ginny’s confident voice drawled from the front of the class, “You said we would begin dueling soon, and only Hermione and Malfoy have gotten to. When do we get our chance?” she asked firmly, arms outstretched as if to say _What gives?_

Her proposition was met with a chorus of outbursts, demanding to know when Percy would make good on his promise. As much as Hermione loved seeing Percy look so out of control, the thought of dueling - even if it was done by other people - made her stiffen in her chair. She drew Bellatrix’s wand as discreetly as she could, if only to hold it under the desk. It had taken residence over her ear, and her head felt strangely light without it.

It took Percy more than a few tries to quiet the class, and when he did, it seemed more out of pity than respect. “You will begin dueling, Miss Weasley,” Ginny grinned at the exasperated tone he used when he said her name, “when you are prepared. Not when you think you are.”

Ginny tried to say more, but Percy silenced her with a snapping, “One more word from you and I’ll give you detention for the week.” Despite the nervous waver to his tone, Hermione had no doubt he would make good on the threat. Any chance to use power, no matter how small.

While the class was collectively groaning at their professor’s clear cowardice, a paper bird flapped onto Hermione’s desk. Malfoy was the only one who sent notes like that, so she didn’t have to guess who sent it. 

As quickly and quietly as she could, she opened the note and smoothed out the creases.

_ We need dew. And the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. And crystal phials.  _

Biting back her scoff, Hermione scrawled back  _ I’m aware.  _ She waited until Percy’s back was turned to toss it ungracefully into Malfoy’s lap.

His eyes narrowed on the words for a moment, and he was back to writing. Unlike her, Malfoy took special care to refold the bird’s shape and charm it to fly back.

It was entertaining to watch his stony expression drop - if only for a moment - when she smushed the bird back into a flat piece of paper. When his shoulders raised as if asking  _ Why?  _ Hermione flashed him a cold smirk. Had to make up for those six years of endless torment somehow. Destroying paper birds seemed adequate.

_ Forbidden Forest. Tonight. Might as well get this over with as quickly as we can. _

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione forced herself to keep her movements slow, to not give away the fact that she’d been passing notes - and consequently planning to break Hogwarts’ rules. Percy was only a few desks ahead of her, brows raised and lips pursed in a look that reminded her painfully of her mother. 

He moved closer, and she fought the urge to cover the note with her sleeve. With a graceful sweep of his hand, Percy jerked his chin at her desk and said, “Care to share with the class what you’re reading instead of the textbook?”

The squeak of chairs sounded as all the students swiveled to face her, eyes alight with curiosity. Hermione wanted to glare at them and tell them to shove it, but she managed to smile sweetly at Percy. “Sure, Professor.”

As cheerfully as she could, she picked up Malfoy’s note and cleared her throat. “Ginny,” she began, pleased to see she held the entire classroom’s attention, “I seem to have started my period early and I’m bleeding through my trousers. I’ve exhausted the supply of pads I keep in my satchel and, though I don’t normally use them, was wondering if you could give me some tampons so I could shove them up my vagina to stop the bleeding. Love, Hermione.”

Snickers broke out through the room, and she fought to keep her own face neutral as she met Percy’s eyes. His face was red and splotchy, his mouth open like a gaping fish. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny flashing her a confused but laughing smile. Neville looked so uncomfortable that, for a moment, Hermione felt bad.

That moment passed when Percy finally sputtered, “That is entirely inappropriate for a classroom setting.”

“So is making your students read their  _ personal  _ messages out loud,” Hermione shot back.

“Detention,” Percy spat, his tone more choked than usual. 

Malfoy had his chin propped in his fist, and unlike the other boys in the class, he appeared unaffected. “Do tell, Granger, how does one properly insert a tampon?” he asked as simply as one asked to use the bathroom. “Do you just jam it up there or is it hard to find-”

Snorting giggles ran out through the classroom, and Percy’s face turned even redder, if that was possible. “Detention for both of you,” he squawked. At the chuckles echoing over the walls, he whirled on the rest of the class, chalk raised as though it were a wand. “If I hear any more about this subject, I will not hesitate to give the entire class  _ zeroes  _ on their participation grades. Is that clear?”

At the muttering acknowledgments of the other students, he turned to Hermione and Malfoy, ears tinged red. “You’ll meet Hagrid on the edge of the grounds at midnight. I believe you’ll be snuffling for truffles. All. Night. Long.” He finished on such a triumphant tone that Hermione found it hard not to snort with laughter.

Instead, she nodded as solemnly as she was able to. “Yes, Professor,” she said with Malfoy. 

But as soon as Percy’s attention was elsewhere, Hermione dared a glance at Malfoy. His eyebrow quirked in silent amusement.  _ Well done, Granger. _

She allowed herself a slight smirk.  _ I’m capable of more than you think. _

The weight of his gaze confused her, but the message was clear.  _ Believe me. I know. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is one of my favorites.  
> shout out to my fellow girls and how our periods can be used to our advantage! hurray!
> 
> <3 katie


	14. Of Wicker and Spells

Following Percy’s instructions, Hermione arrived at the edge of the forest at precisely midnight. Hagrid’s bearded face split into a wide grin, and she felt a surge of guilt. Had she spoken to him  _ once  _ since she’d been here?

“Hermione! I’ll tell ya, it’s a real pleasure ta be see’n ya!” His burly arms wrapped around her, and she let out a short squeak as he lifted her a few feet off the ground. He smelled of fresh soil and Earl Grey.

Once she’d finally escaped his grasp, Hermione forced a cheery smile. “As much as I despise detentions, I’m sure spending time with you will make up for it,” she said.

In the gloom of night, she couldn’t see his flush, but his nervous mutterings assured her he was blushing. Hagrid had always been so kind to her, to Harry and Ron. So kind, and she was using him to get potion ingredients. Some Gryffindor she had turned out to be.

But as much as she wanted to feel guilty, she almost felt...smug. She decided to figure out the moral implications later, especially when she heard the crunch of grass behind her.

Malfoy ducked his head towards Hagrid, shoulders stiffening at the half-giant’s grunt of annoyance. Third year still hung heavy in Hagrid’s mind, it seemed. Before Malfoy could say anything, Hagrid shoved two wicker baskets towards them, one for each.

“Percy - er,  _ Professor Weasley -  _ asked that you root for Death-Caps on the East side,” said Hagrid. He raised a shaking finger, his gaze of warning growing warmer as it rested on Hermione. “You’ll have two hours by yerselves, but then I got ta come after ya. So work fast, ya hear?”

He gave Malfoy a not-so-gentle shove into the forest, Hermione fighting a smile behind him. “Thanks, Hagrid,” she called over her shoulder before she plunged into the Forbidden Forest.

She and Malfoy had only gone a few yards before the light of Hogwarts was smothered whole by the thick trees, the eerie silence. Drawing Bellatrix’s wand, she whispered, “Lumos.”

The light cast shadows over Malfoy’s cheekbones, illuminating his grim smile. “Two hours isn’t enough to gather the things we need  _ and  _ the Death-Caps.”

“Lucky for you, I did a little research on Hawk Moths.” Shooting him a look, she waved her wand again, speaking the enchantment she’d practiced in her dorms only a few minutes before. A wavering thread of red magic zipped through the woods, weaving around and up trees. Leading her straight to what she needed.

She glanced back to find Malfoy staring at the magic, then at her. His mouth quirked. “Trust me, Granger, if my wand wasn’t registered, I’d be casting charms all bloody day,” he said, patting the sleeve of his shirt.

“Tell you what; I’ll go find those Death’s Head chrysali, you go snuffling for mushrooms,” she said sweetly. She chucked her basket at him, and he caught it one-handed.

Nostrils flared, he shook his head. “Fine.” He flashed her a smirk. “Bet I can fill up  _ both  _ these baskets before you find two chysali.”

That sneering, competitive tone of a haughty pureblood reminded Hermione of the years prior. But now, Malfoy’s teasing wasn’t cruel. Rather, his eyes were alight at the prospect of a challenge, searching her face for an answer.

She grinned back, Bellatrix’s wand spinning over her fingers. “Deal.”

Malfoy was still smiling when Hermione turned and leapt through the foliage, chasing that glowing red thread over the fallen leaves. The enchantment was designed to guide her to a dead Hawk Moth - as many of them as possible. She’d spent hours in the library perfecting the specifics, ensuring the variables were all taken into consideration. And it was working beautifully.

It only took a half hour to find the first chrysalis, hidden in the rotting trunk of a great oak. Hermione’s hands were trembling by the time she set it in her basket, fighting the urge to immediately brush the dirt and grime off her fingers. So many dead bugs...She shuddered under her shirt. Her very thin shirt, she realized as a frigid breeze ruffled her hair. 

The second chrysalis, though, seemed determined to stay hidden. Bellatrix’s wand was humming as Hermione followed the thread of magic. It seemed to bounce back and forth between the trees, not leading anywhere specific. She frowned.

Her scowl deepened when she realized the creatures of the forest had gone quiet. She’d been so busy focusing on finding the chrysali, her senses had dulled. Now she was deep in the Forbidden Forest, far from any sort of life with a steadily warming wand and a spell that seemed to waver in and out of existence. 

“Come on,” she muttered, shaking the wand a bit. The red thread had circled itself around another rotting tree, pointing out another chrysalis twenty meters away. Blowing out a relieved breath, Hermione took a step towards it.

And stopped when the light of her wand flickered and went out.

All she could hear was her breathing - gasping and deep. The moonlight was mostly smothered by the thick canopy of the trees, but it was all she had to go off of. Bellatrix’s wand was near-scalding in her grasp, and she couldn’t make it cast any more spells. Swearing under her breath, Hermione dropped it in Hagrid’s basket, careful not to crush the first chrysalis. 

The last ingredient was right in front of her face. Even in the dark, she should be able to find it. So Hermione staggered forward, raising one of her hands in front of her face. It took a few seconds before she felt the tree’s bark, and she blew out a relieved breath.

Perhaps the spell had been too much for Bellatrix’s wand - after all, it was very complex. That was the only plausible reason Hermione let herself think of, because the other option was another force at play. And she didn’t want to consider something taking away the wand’s power, not when she was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest at night.

Her fingers danced over the shell of the last chrysalis, and she pulled it off the tree as delicately as possible. It took some fumbling, but she eventually got it into her basket. She hoped Malfoy hadn’t collected enough Death Caps yet. She had no wish of losing in their little competition.

When she reached for Bellatrix’s wand, she immediately jerked her hand back with a muffled yelp. It was hot - so, so hot she was sure it burned her fingers. What had happened?

It was then Hermione realized the forest had descended into silence. Not only was it mind-numbingly dark, but there was no birdsong. No chittering of nocturnal creatures or rustling wind.

The world was painfully, terrifyingly still.

Until she felt that brush of a cloak over her arm.

Hermione stumbled backwards, holding the basket of chrysali close to her chest. The horrid stench of death hung thick in the air, and she heard rasped breathing beside her ear. It was  _ the thing,  _ the thing that had chased her and followed her and-

“Mine.” The figure’s genderless, toneless voice hollowed out her ears. And then it was touching her, its shadowed limbs wrapping over her back and chest like the embrace of a lover.

Too shocked to say anything, Hermione turned, the figure’s arms like cobwebs over her shirt, and ran. As fast and far as she possibly could.

She tripped over roots and uneven ground, but managed to stay on her feet. The figure stayed close behind her, its cold breath on the back of her neck. It was then that she realized she had a voice.

“Malfoy!” she screamed, her shoulder banging painfully into the solid trunk of a tree. Cursing loudly, she started again, crashing through bushes and thorns that ripped at her clothes. “Malfoy, you useless  _ arse- _ ”

The wand in her basket was of no help, and neither was the stupid boy snuffling for mushrooms. How good was she at wandless charms?

_ Time to find out,  _ she thought grimly. After a few more seconds of mindless running through the moonlight, Hermione turned to face the figure head on.

It looked just as frightening as it had before. Those empty eyes stared back at her, eating her whole. 

“I killed you,” she breathed.

Its response was cracked and voiceless. “Can’t kill what’s already dead, girl.”

Hands raised in front of her, Hermione drew on her magic. Brought her power as close to the surface as she could without letting it spill over. “ _ Avada Kedavra,” _ she said through gritted teeth.

Green magic poured from her palms, enveloping the figure in a cloud of murky power. It seemed to be laughing, but she couldn’t be sure. All her focus was on the spell, on targeting the being that might as well be Voldemort resurrected. She could feel the power draining her, but she didn’t relent.

Like the astronomy tower, the figure didn’t die. It disintegrated into ash, that last, rasping laugh fading with it. 

Hermione was left alone with the moonlight, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. An Unforgivable Curse was hard enough, but wandless… She slumped against a pine tree, a whimper of terror and fatigue rising in her throat.

Moments later, the snapping of twigs echoed in the distance. Something was coming for her, but she didn’t have the energy to look toward the sound. All she wanted was to sleep, and sleep deeply. Her conscious began to ebb.

She blinked, and then Malfoy was crouched before her, his normally cold features drawn in concern. “What happened?” he asked, breathing hard.

Had he run all the way here? His clothes looked so rumbled and dirty, just as scratched as her own were. She let out a breathy laugh at the ruffled state of his hair. “Worried?” she murmured.

“I heard you shout for me.” Those intelligent eyes were focused on her. Had she not been so tired, Hermione might have been surprised at his care. “What happened, Granger?”

It took so much effort to keep her eyes open - to not curl up on the fallen leaves and let sleep take her. “Wandless spell.” Her voice wavered. “Want to go to bed.”

Malfoy let out a resigned breath. “Fine. We’ll get you to bed. But then you tell me what happened. Got it?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she muttered, but she gave him a heavy nod. Her thoughts were so muddled, it was hard to speak. 

He offered her his hand, and she managed to grasp it limply. “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can.” Hermione pulled herself to her feet and took a step. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed for Malfoy’s arm. “No, I can’t,” she said reluctantly.

He muttered a curse as she clung to him, scrambling to find his balance. The two baskets between them didn’t help things. 

“Hagrid’s going to kill me,” he said when her head drooped against his chest. He was so warm and solid, and his heartbeat was so calming that Hermione didn’t want to leave.

“I’ll stop him,” she promised into his shirt. “I killed that creature, I can kill him too.”

Malfoy let out a clipped laugh. “Now now, Granger. Keep talking like that and people will think you’re secretly Slytherin.”

She leaned into him more, too exhausted to move away. “I’m tired.”

“I know.” His arms were around her, his chin rested on her head. But his movements were too careful, too hesitant to be called affectionate. “I know you’re tired.”

“I’ll just sleep here,” she said, sagging against him. “You can go.”

Malfoy hummed and pulled her closer. “You know I can’t.” Before she knew what he was doing, he’d scooped her up into his arms, their baskets of chrysali and mushrooms resting between them.

Hermione felt a bright spark of panic at the loss of control, but it melted away when Malfoy said, “You okay? I can put you down, it’ll just take longer to-”

“I’m okay.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and far away. Malfoy’s silver gaze was still on her, seeming to read her expression. She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. Sleep was slowly dragging her down.

“You’re safe now,” he said, voice gentle and promising. His heartbeat pounded steadily through Hermione, as though it were her own. Pressed against Malfoy’s chest, she let out a contented sigh.

That comforting heartbeat lulled her to a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooh my otp's getting closerrrrrrrrr  
> gosh i love them  
> lemme know what you think! are they moving too fast? too slow? tell me!
> 
> <3 Katie


	15. Of Understandings and Suspicions

When Hermione woke, she was lying in a hospital wing bed.

The mandrake leaf was still under her tongue, and she was relieved to find her clothes were still torn and muddied - no one had changed her. But why was she there?

The muscles in her legs and abdomen were sore as she sat up. She hadn’t run in ages, and that encounter in the woods had left her weary. As had the Unforgivable Curse she cast on that cloaked figure. 

Someone was shouting something, and she blinked. Her head was swimming, but she managed to look to the side, her legs crossed beneath her.

Ron and Harry were there, speaking to Madam Pomfrey. Well, Harry was speaking. Ron’s face was red, his hands balled at his sides as he yelled. Who was he yelling at?

The fog over her senses finally cleared, and she winced at how loud his words were. “What were you doing with her? Attacking her? Tormenting her like you did all through school?”

Malfoy stepped into Hermione’s view, hands slipped coolly in his pockets. Warmth flooded through her. “I didn’t do a thing,” he said evenly. 

A muscle in Ron’s jaw ticked. “Then tell me how in Merlin’s name she ended up in a hospital bed and you’re standing here without a care in the world.”

“The groundskeeper insisted.” Malfoy didn’t get in Ron’s face, nor did he back away. He simply stood there, holding Ron’s simmering glare. “She’s only asleep, I swear it on my life. Madam Pomfrey herself-”

Then the doors burst open, and the Headmistress stepped through, robes flowing behind her. The boys opened their mouths to say something, but McGonagall fixed them with a stern look. “Will you stop bickering like children? Your voices can be heard even in the Great Hall.”

She floated past them, coming to the side of Hermione’s bed. Fighting an embarrassed flush, Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position as McGonagall spoke.

“Hagrid tells me Mr. Malfoy put you to sleep,” she said, looking over her spectacles.

A surge of anger rose in Hermione’s chest. “He did nothing of the sort,” she snapped. Merlin, how was she going to explain her exhaustion?

Ron and Harry were around her in an instant, brows creased. McGonagall left, saying she had to talk to Madam Pomfrey. Harry was the first to speak. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m annoyed.” She swung her legs to the ground, gripping the edge of her bed as she managed to stand. Crossing her arms, she turned her attention back to them. “What are you two doing here?”

“Hagrid owled,” said Ron. “Told us you were hurt.”

Hermione gave a mocking spin, then put a hand on her hip. “I’m fine, you worrywarts. How did you even get out of Auror training?”

At that, Harry’s mouth split into a coy grin. “Being the Boy Who Lived has its perks.”

She shook her head. “Spoiled brat,” she said and hugged him. 

Ron looked uncomfortable, but she hugged him, too. No use in holding any sort of grudge against the boy or being unnecessarily awkward. After all, she was the one to break up with him, not the other way around. 

She didn’t feel nearly as drained as she had in the forest. If Malfoy hadn’t appeared, she would have fallen fast asleep against that tree.

At the thought of Malfoy, she glanced back to where she’d last seen him standing. He was gone, nothing left of him but the faint smell of musty dungeons and freshly cut thyme. 

“Who are you looking for?” Harry’s gaze was open and scrutinizing. He already knew the answer.

Hermione responded anyway. “Malfoy. He’s been wrongfully accused of assaulting me and then you two began shouting at him,” she said, leveling a glare at her friends. “Has it ever occurred to you that he could have been helping me?”

Ron shrugged. “No.”

She slugged him in the shoulder, wishing more than anything to hex him with her wand. At the thought of it, a jolt of worry shot through her. If Madam Pomfrey or the Headmistress found her wand, the wand of a Death-Eater, she’d never see it again. 

“I have to go,” she said, striding for the arched doorway. Then she turned, taking in their dumbfounded expressions. “Lunch on the Quidditch field?”

The boys exchanged a knowing glance, and Hermione fought a groan of frustration. She hated being left out of things.

“It’s long past supper,” said Harry.

Hermione blinked. Had it been that long?

“Breakfast, then,” she said and walked away.

The hallways were dark and barren of students, and she wrapped her arms around herself. It was late, and she was alone. Whenever it was like this, the figure appeared. Now it was only a matter of waiting for it to appear - Voldemort or whatever it was.

She cracked her knuckles, as though she could prepare her hands for another wandless curse. Could she even manage one so soon after her last? 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and Hermione spun around. To find Malfoy standing in one of the stone alcoves, his expression one of impassive stone. He was holding a tray filled with food - predominantly walnut cake. 

“You’ve been asleep almost two days,” he said simply. “Thought you might be hungry.”

She didn’t argue with that. With a beckoning wave, she lowered herself onto one of the stone benches lining the corridor. Malfoy sat at the opposite end, the tray between them acting as a barrier.

“Why’d you leave?” she asked, lifting a chalice of water to her lips. Had it always tasted so heavenly? She gulped down the whole thing before he formed a response.

“I assumed you wanted to speak to Weasley and Potter alone. It seems my assumption was correct.” He was talking like a prim aristocrat again. Not letting any inflection of emotion slip into his tone, keeping his face shuttered. And it pissed her off more than she wished it did.

The pumpkin pasties were still warm, as were the buttery green beans and seasoned chicken. Wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin provided, she said, “Why did Hagrid send for them?”

Malfoy leaned farther back on the bench, no longer watching her eat. “When a Malfoy comes staggering out of the Forbidden Forest with a member of the Golden Trio unconscious in his arms, it sets off a few alarms,” he said. “So you were rushed to the hospital wing, I was rushed to the Headmistress’s office, and the other two were sent for.”

She cursed McGonagall - so foully Malfoy grinned in surprise. “Of course they’d blame you,” she muttered, more to herself than Malfoy. “Not as though healing diagnostics had shown I was only  _ asleep. _ ”

“Yes, well, ex Death-Eaters aren’t smiled upon.” He steepled his fingers, staring at the pillar behind Hermione as she wolfed down her cake. “What happened in the forest - before I got there?” His voice was tight, as though he were restraining himself. From doing what?

She swallowed down her second slice, brushing back a stray curl. “My wand stopped working. It got too hot, and I couldn’t use it. I’d just found the last chrysalis, and then that  _ thing  _ from the astronomy tower attacked me.”

Malfoy nodded, taking in the information with a neutral expression. “I thought you killed it.”

“So did I.” She snorted, downing another chalice of water. “Anyway, I killed it again. Wandless. That’s why I was so exhausted.”

At that, Malfoy’s brows shot up. “You performed an Unforgivable Curse  _ wandless _ ?”

She held his gaze and shrugged, lifting another piece of cake to her mouth. “What else could I do? You weren’t there. No one was.”

He went wholly still at that, gray eyes frozen on her. Shaking her head in irritation, Hermione went back to eating.

“I’m sorry.” His words were barely a breath leaving his lips, the sparse lantern light casting shadows over his cheekbones. The cake in her hands grew heavy, and she put it down. 

“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

He huffed a humorless laugh, mouth twisted in a wry smirk. “Don’t lie to yourself, Granger. We both know that’s not true. If I’d done something, if I’d rebelled against the Dark Lord or even just participated more in the meetings… I could have known about this before it happened.”

At a loss for what to say, Hermione moved the tray onto the floor. It made a slight scraping noise on the stone, and she didn’t miss the way Malfoy flinched. 

She raised her arms towards him, her lips tugging up at the corners when he gave her a look of confusion. “It’s a hug, you prat.”

He looked more awkward than she'd ever seen him - even when he was eleven. Her arms faltered. “I… You don’t have to. You just look like you need one.”

Hesitantly, as if afraid he was doing it wrong, Malfoy leaned towards her. The fact they were both sitting down didn’t help things, but Hermione wrapped her arms over his shoulders and held him tightly.

Time stopped and sped up at the same time. She was aware of every shifting particle of dust, of every shuddering breath Malfoy took and every shift of his body. His hands were pressed gingerly to her shoulder blades, his fingers digging comfortably into her shoulders. 

“When was the last time you were held?” Hermione didn’t think enough to recognize the condescending tone of the words, and she cringed at the thought she’d ruined everything.

Instead of jerking away, Malfoy rested his head on her shoulder. “Long enough.” His voice, while tense, trembled at the edges.

She found herself at a loss for words. If the people hated his presence alone, how many had deigned to touch him? No one. No one would have dared. Even Narcissa, locked away in that Manor, might have ignored her son. She’d done worse to him, after all.

Hermione remembered what Malfoy had said to her in the forest.  _ You’re safe now.  _ As though he could keep her from the evils of the world. As though her mind was something that could be escaped, as though he was that escape.

But he’d brought her food. He’d shared his ideas with her, he’d given her that mandrake leaf, carried her out of the forest when she could barely stand. Malfoy was trying. 

She squeezed him tighter. “You’re safe here,” she murmured. “I promise.”

She’d half-expected him to stand and run to the Slytherin dormitories, to leave and never talk to her again. To sneer at her kindness and call it weakness.

Malfoy gripped her shoulders as though they were the only thing tethering him to the earth. “Why?” 

The question had a million different meanings and a million different answers.

So Hermione put a hand on the back of his head. His snow-white hair was soft as cornsilk. “Because I understand,” she said, laying her cheek on the shoulder of his crisp dress shirt.

He still smelled of thyme and dampness. Of darkness and potions. Everything she had been taught to stay away from, to avoid or attack. Still she held him, still she breathed in that scent and let herself be surrounded by it.

No part of her felt ashamed to be so close to Malfoy. Not even when Harry and Ron walked out of the hospital wing and their gazes landed on them. 

She gave them both a look that said,  _ Speak of this and I’ll hex you into oblivion. _ Harry gave her a terse nod and spun quickly in the other direction, a flush creeping up his neck. Ron on the other hand…

Hermione tried not to feel guilty - she was just embracing a friend - but Ron looked hurt. There was a tightness to his features as he turned and stalked after his friend, stabbing the ground with each step. Breakfast tomorrow would be interesting to say the least.

She must have stiffened because a second later, Malfoy pulled out of her embrace. That cold look passed over his features again, the curtain of stone drawn.

“Miffy should come by to remove the tray,” he said shortly before standing and adjusting his tie. Hermione hadn’t noticed the deep shadows under his eyes until now. How long had it been since he’d slept?

“Good night, Draco.” At his name, Malfoy’s eyes snapped to hers. Shock brightened the silver, his mouth slightly parted.

Hermione stood and strode down the hallway, making for Gryffindor Tower. 

Malfoy’s gaze rested between her shoulders until she turned the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY  
> fluff is my weakness
> 
> <3 Katie


	16. Of Friends and Cartoons

She entered her dormitory expecting to see Ginny, but in her place was a hastily written note. 

_Went to Hogsmeade with Harry. I’ll see you at breakfast on the pitch!_

_~ G_

Relief flooded through Hermione, quickly replaced by guilt at feeling such a thing. It wasn’t that she was glad not to be around Ginny, but she wasn’t looking forward to explaining how she wound up in the hospital wing. Or why Draco Malfoy had to carry her out of detention.

She flopped back onto her bed and covered her face with her hands. Unbidden, gasping sobs shook her shoulders, and she did her best to swallow against the tears. Why was this happening to her? Surely after everything she had been through, everything she and the boys had done and fought, she deserved a little rest. Not having to look over her shoulder every half second or research the Dark Arts until her eyes bled. 

Instead, a faceless figure had chosen to haunt her, to torment her. The Daily Prophet had turned against her, the Minister of Magic himself seemed to want to tear her apart, and her friends were moving on without her. She was being left behind, a living casualty of the war. And it hurt - so bad.

Something was digging into her shoulder, and Hermione found Bellatrix’s wand sitting on her bed. Rubbing her eyes angrily, she grabbed it, holding it tightly to her chest. No doubt Mipsy had dropped it off under Malfoy’s orders. Thank Merlin. 

She didn’t bother changing her clothes before she curled up under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

A rolling fog covered the grounds the next morning, and she pulled on her bulkiest sweater before starting for the Quidditch fields. She didn’t miss the students staring at her, the way they looked down when she shot them a dry glare. If the Prophet wasn’t enough, last night’s incident would surely solidify the rumors. Great. 

Hermione spun her wand over her fingers as she stepped outside, grimacing at the way the fog wove around her, at the way the wisps seemed to brush over her as the figure’s spindly fingers had. A chill ran up her spine, and she pulled the sweater tighter around her. 

No one was on the pitch yet, and for that small mercy she was grateful. Glancing back, she saw that the fog had completely hidden Hogwarts from view. She was alone in a vast world of gray, her breath clouding in front of her face. 

The wand in her hand stayed solid and comforting as she twirled it over her fingers. It hadn’t given her any problems since the Forbidden Forest, which was both a relief and a worry. What had caused it to malfunction so horridly in the first place?

Footsteps squelched in the dew-soaked grass behind her, and she turned. Ron flashed her a tight smile, freckled hands adjusting the Gryffindor scarf wound around his neck. “Hey, ‘Mione.”

“Hey.” She tucked a strand of fog-dampened hair behind her ear, keeping her wand in hand. “How’s training going?” she asked.

Ron shrugged, stepping closer. “Pretty good. Think the instructor has a bit of a crush on Harry, though.”

“Of course she does.”

“It’s a he,” corrected Ron. “Never thought you were one for ignorance.” His lopsided grin made it clear he was joking.

She huffed a semblance of a laugh - all that she could manage without being obviously fake. “So you like it?”

“Yeah, I do. But I’ll always miss sneaking around here,” he said, waving a hand through the fog. “Feels weird to cast spells and duel without an invisibility cloak draped around my shoulders. Or without you telling us we’ll be expelled.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Someone had to remind you of the consequences.”

“And yet here we are, in the clear.” The bleachers creaked under his weight as he sat down, gaze heavy on Hermione. Expecting her to sit.

In response, she widened her stance. Holding her ground. “Do you ever feel like…” She chewed her lip. “Like maybe it’s not over?”

Ron scratched the back of his neck through the scarf. “I don’t think it’ll ever be over for the ones who fought on the front lines. I mean, the stuff that we saw… That doesn’t just leave you.”

Flashes of green light and unseeing eyes clouded her vision, and Hermione blinked them away. Ron’s expression pinched tighter.

“Is there something specific you mean?” he asked.

She thought of the figure floating toward her, of Malfoy telling her to run. The Mandrake leaf under her tongue, the Restricted Section and the answers it was bound to hold. 

Ron and Harry had already moved on. Or, at least, managed to put a majority of the war behind them. This matter of another Horcrux would only serve to destroy whatever normalcy they’d managed to find in the rubble of the war. She wouldn’t bring them into it. 

So she forced a smile. “Nothing. I just had a nightmare, I think.”

Immediately, his gaze turned to one of concern. “Do you need-”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

Hermione rubbed her arms, her wand scraping over the wool of her sweater. Ron was staring at something in the distance, his expression troubled. She had to admit, this wasn’t as awkward as she’d originally thought it’d be. 

“Is there something you want to tell me about...about Malfoy?” Ron was cracking his knuckles, a telltale sign of his nerves. “I’m not trying to be a jealous arse, just a good friend. That’s what you need, right?” he asked tentatively. “A friend?”

She swallowed down her surprise. “A friend would be nice right now,” she managed, tucking the wand over her ear. Before she could talk herself out of it, she sat and looped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. He stilled.

“You wanna talk about it?” His voice was hesitant.

“No. I just want to sit here, if you’re okay with that,” she said.

He laughed softly. “You’ll always be my best friend - you know that, ‘Mione?”

Tears of relief pricked behind her eyes, but she blinked them quickly away. “I know. And I’m sorry, again, for hurting you.”

Ron grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Please. Heart of stone, remember? I feel nothing.”

She slugged his shoulder, and he made an indignant noise. “You didn’t say that when you cried over Bing Bong at our last movie night.”

While Ron muttered something about _blasted Muggle movies_ , two more people emerged from the fog, smiling brightly. “Mione!” shrieked Ginny, tearing her hand out of Harry’s to run to her. 

Hermione let out an _oomph_ as the Chaser collided with her, sending them both toppling off the bleachers. “What happened to you? Everyone was saying Malfoy kidnapped you or something. I swear, I tear off his balls if he-”

“He didn’t do anything,” Hermione rushed to say, standing up off the dew and dragging Ginny with her. “I performed some wandless magic, and apparently the spell was too powerful. Knocked myself right out.”

Ginny snorted. “For the brightest witch of her age, that was pretty stupid.”

Hermione bit back her retort. She’d already determined not to tell them about the possibility of another Horcrux - she owed them that, no matter if it meant sacrificing her pride.

As soon as Ginny released her, Harry’s arms were around her. The rim of his glasses was cold against her neck, and she felt the shallowness of his breathing. Brow furrowed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“What happened?” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear. Ron and Ginny were a few feet away, bickering about something she hadn’t caught.

“Nothing. Nothing.” His words were distant, as though his mind was a million miles away.

Pulling away from him, Hermione stared into his face. The corners of his eyes were lined with stress, his gaze cloudy. “I know you, Harry,” she said, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

He looked like he wanted to say something - looked like the answer was about to burst out of him. He opened his mouth, then shut it resolutely. “There are rumors at the Ministry that the Death Eaters...that someone is rallying them,” he whispered.

Shock kept her from speaking immediately. “Why do they think that? What proof do they have?”

“Lucius Malfoy is dead.”

Hermione staggered backward, held steady only by Harry’s hands on her forearms. Did Malfoy know? Did the public? She hadn’t heard anything, but she’d also been staying away from the Prophet ever since the incident in Diagon Alley. 

“Dead?” she breathed, her fingers clawing into Harry’s sleeves. She pulled him farther from the bleachers to grant them some privacy.

“Killed,” said Harry, lips thinned. “The guards are saying it looked like a dementor, but the coroner says he was a victim of the Killing Curse.”

She thought of the figure following her. With the dark robes and hollowed eyes, it could pass for a dementor. “What’s the Ministry’s theory?”

His shoulders sagged with the weight of his sigh. “Aside from Voldemort, Lucius was the main leader of the Death Eaters. There were rumors of the rogue Death Eaters planning his escape from Azkaban, to take over Voldemort’s role. But it seems someone got to him before they could.”

“Another Death Eater trying to lead? Taking out the competition?” Hermione suggested.

Harry’s head dropped toward the ground. “That’s what they think.” He rubbed at his face, glasses askew. “Auror training was a mistake,” he said at last. “I thought I’d be lumped in with the rest of the trainees, but… I should have known my status would have caused problems.”

“What sorts of problems?” asked Hermione softly, gripping his hand. _I’m here. I’m here._

When Harry looked up at her, his eyes were glassy. “They want me to fix this. They want to send me and Ron into the field to figure out what that thing was and who’s behind it. They want…” His voice broke. “They want us to _kill_ them, Mione. And I don’t think… I don’t think I can.”

“They can’t do that,” she hissed. “Aurors aren’t permitted field jobs until at least two years of intense training - at the very _least_.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I’m the Boy Who Lived. I have a responsibility to fight the monsters, to protect the weak.”

 _But you’re just a boy,_ she wanted to say. _You’re supposed to be going out to bars and dancing with Ginny and laughing with your friends. You’ve done your fighting - it’s over._

Even Ron had known the reality. _I don’t think it’ll ever be over for the ones who fought on the front lines._ Or for the ones the Ministry had dubbed “heroes”.

At a loss for words, Hermione raised her hand and brushed away the silent tears leaking down his cheeks. She brought his head down to her shoulder, holding him tightly as he cried. Mercifully, Ron and Ginny were still snapping at one another and didn’t notice.

“We’ll fight this,” she said, her voice somehow steady. “I won’t let them do this to you - I swear it.” 

A few moments passed before Harry lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed. “Whatever happens happens,” he said drily. “I’ve been dealt a bad hand before. But I can still win the game.”

Hermione’s heart ached for her friend, for the future Voldemort had cursed him to. “I know you can.”

“There’s something else.” Harry’s gaze became darting, worried. “The Ministry thinks Malfoy might have something to do with his father’s death.”

She wanted to laugh. “Lucius is the spawn of Satan, but Draco wouldn’t kill him.”

Something flashed in Harry’s eyes, but he said, “Not even to please the other Death Eaters? They might have threatened his life, or his mother’s. Would he kill him then?”

Hermione felt her stomach plummet, but she kept her expression blank. What was it that Draco had said so long ago, in the back room of Flourish and Blott’s? _His associates look to me. Expecting me to have that same power - rooted in deceit and cruelty._

“No,” she said. “Not even then.”

Harry looked skeptical, but he nodded all the same. “Since when did you and Malfoy become friends?”

 _Friend_ seemed too light of a word for what Draco was. He was her asylum. “End of the summer, I guess. He was in trouble, I helped him out, and in turn, he helped me. And it’s not like he has any other friends,” she added.

“So it’s a guilt thing?” At her glare, he said, “Sometimes I feel like I saved his life and then left him to the wolves. It’s a guilt thing for me.”

Hermione lifted a shoulder, mouth hardening. “For me, it’s a friendship. One I truly care about. And I know, without a doubt, that he has nothing to do with this Death Eater uprising the Ministry is speaking of.”

Harry seemed to be mulling over her words. “You know I don’t trust him.”

“Then trust me.”

Ron was grabbing his collar before Harry could respond. “I swear, mate, if you and Ginny were doing what she’s saying you were…”

“You idiot!” Ginny grabbed his shoulder and twisted it, pinning him to the ground. “It was a joke!” 

“Didn’t sound like a joke!” Ron roared, words muffled in the wet grass. When it became clear that Ginny wasn’t letting up anytime soon, he looked to Hermione and whimpered, “Help me.”

She grinned. “As much as I’d like to watch you get pummeled, Ginny and I have classes to get to.”

“And breakfast to eat,” said Ginny, stepping off of her brother with a grumbling sniff. She gave Harry a quick kiss, and Ron pretended to retch on the ground. “Oh, grow up.”

When he got to his feet, Hermione hugged him. “Stay safe,” she murmured. “And keep Harry alive in there. Don’t let the instructor get too touchy.”

“Oh, do I have stories for you.” Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Despite herself, she felt a mischievous grin spread over her face. “Send me an owl with all the details,” she said.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll send you a Howler that explains _exactly_ how you sobbed over Bing Bong’s death in a Muggle theater, surrounded by laughing children.”

He scowled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I have pictures.”

He scoffed, but doubt flickered in his eyes. “Sure you do.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Ginny was pulling at her hand. “Come on - I want to get a Pumpkin Pasty before they’re all gone.”

Not one to stand between Ginny and food, Hermione followed, but not before glancing back at Harry. He flashed her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Love you guys!” she called over her shoulder before she and Ginny disappeared in the fog.


	17. Of Papers and Towers

Hermione sat outside of the Great Hall with her back pressed to the wall, the cold of the stone seeping through her sweater. There was a book opened over her knees, but she couldn’t focus on the words. Instead she was thinking of Harry, of the Aurors, of the unfair position he and Ron were being forced into.

How many times would this happen? How long would the Ministry treat them as pawns in their twisted politics? How long would they be blind to the fact that the famed “Golden Trio” was just three kids wronged by life?

How much longer would she have to fight against their cowardice?

Blowing out a breath, she closed her book. Her eyes narrowed on the stones in the opposite wall, as if they were to blame for the mess she needed to fix. The Ministry couldn’t send Ron and Harry into the field after so little formal training - she wouldn’t allow it. 

But what could she do?

Hermione buried her face in her hands, horrified to find frustrated tears pricking behind her eyes. What was she going to do? Being a Hogwarts student gave her little to no power, and her reputation as a war hero could only get her so far. How was she supposed to get the Ministry’s attention, or even change their minds?

_ Harry needs me to do this,  _ she reminded herself, swallowing against the despair lumping in her throat.  _ If I don’t fix this, he’s going to get hurt all over again. _

So she wiped at her face, brushing back a few strands of wild hair that had clung to her face. The Mandrake leaf in her mouth was as prominent as ever, as if to remind her what else she had to do.  _ Change the Ministry’s mind, get into the Restricted Section, find the Horcrux, kill the creature stalking you.  _

Too much.

_It’s too much._

Hermione fought the urge to curl up and hope the ground would swallow her whole.

The hum of the Great Hall seemed to grow louder, and she glanced over her shoulder. Owls swarmed the air, packages dropping from their talons and into the hands of waiting students. Ginny was snorting with laughter about something Neville said. The ghost of a smile graced Hermione’s mouth. At least her friend was happy.

Something shifted in the atmosphere, then, as though the gray fog outside had crept in. A bench scraped over the ground, cutting through the gentle buzz of conversation, and Hermione watched as Malfoy stood from his seat.

Everyone seemed to be staring at him, their expressions varying between sympathetic or haughty. Hermione’s heart sank when she saw the many copies of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ spread on the table. What had they said now?

He didn’t even glance at her as he stalked out and down the corridor, his sharp features set in a mask of ice. Frowning, Hermione shoved her book back in her bag and went after him. 

She wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was walking fast. So fast she almost had to run to catch up.

“Draco,” she said gently. 

Malfoy almost looked like he was about to hesitate and turn around - almost, but he kept walking. 

And Hermione kept following. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“Leave me alone,” he ground out, not bothering to look at her. His hands were balled in pale fists at his sides. “I’m sure you’ll find out from your Gryffindor friends eventually, anyway.”

That made her freeze. Since when had he reverted back to insulting her House?

And then he was gone, the swish of his robes carrying him around the corner and out of her sight. There was a heaviness that had settled over her heart, and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. 

Ginny’s eyes were wide with shock when Hermione stomped up to the Gryffindor table, the chill skittering down her spine dulling to a faint buzz. 

“Where’s the Prophet?” she demanded, trying to force the shakiness out of her voice.

Glancing between the girls, Neville silently handed her a copy. Hermione snatched it sharply out of his hands and snapped it open. She was mildly aware of her House staring at her as she quickly scanned the front page, mouth set in a firm line. 

She handed it back to Neville, who took it with a look of concern. “Does everyone know?”

Ginny nodded, popping a grape in her mouth without looking away from Hermione. “No one’s said anything to him yet,” she said, her words laced with a knowing undertone.

“Keep it that way.” With a small, grateful smile, Hermione spun for the exit. The memories pounding at her mind were relentless, now, pounding at the barriers she had set to keep them contained.

_ Fred, pale and lifeless. _

_ Remus and Tonks, together even in death. _

_ Death everywhere, in every crack and crevice, in every atom of the air- _

But when she reached the exit, Hermione forced herself to turn around. To face the four tables of students and the longer table of muttering Professors. She wasn’t sure if she’d called for their attention - everything was numb - but they were all looking at her. Expectant.

Her hands were shaking, and she whipped Bellatrix’s wand out from behind her ear, gripping it like an anchor. “If anyone says anything to him, I will hex you into oblivion,” she said, glaring at everyone who dared to look at her.

No one responded. Whether it was out of fear or of mocking amusement, Hermione didn’t care.

She stumbled out of the Great Hall, ran to the nearest bathroom, and vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach.

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

Malfoy wasn’t in any of his classes, nor did he show up to lunch. When Hermione’s final class let out, she joined the hoard of Gryffindors headed for the Common Room.

Ginny found her quickly, her arm strung through Hermione’s as they walked. “I didn’t see you at lunch today,” she said with a questioning glance.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Hermione kept her gaze straight ahead, her mind a maze of thoughts. None that she wanted to reveal to Ginny. “How’s Quidditch going?”

“As well as can be expected. Slytherin is actually looking good this year, so that could be an issue.” Freckles creased in thought, Ginny said, “Did I mention they want to make me a Keeper this year?”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Why?”

“Guess they can’t find a better one. Which is sad, really, because Keeping is what I’m worst at. Chaser is my go-to position, obviously, and I’m not bad at Beating or Seeking, but Keeping?” She snorted, her bony elbow digging into Hermione’s side. “Can’t wait to tell Fred and-”

Hermione tightened her hold on Ginny’s arm when she realized her mistake. Her bright features fell into a storm cloud, and she shut her mouth. “Can’t wait to tell George,” she corrected, wearing an ingenuine grin.

Though she wanted Ginny to be honest with her, Hermione recognized the need to act like everything was okay. So she just nodded, and the moment passed with little trouble.

While Ginny changed into her flying robes, Hermione put together a pile of essays she had yet to finish and stuffed them in her bag. Walking through the Common Room meant dealing with the confused and sometimes even  _ betrayed _ stares of the other students, but she kept her head high.

She would gladly sacrifice her reputation if it meant keeping Draco safe.

The library was fairly empty when she arrived, the wards of the Restricted Section mocking her in their complexities as she sat at a table and went to work. Time passed in a silent blur of moving students and unshelved books, the scratching of her quill grounding her in the moment. Bellatrix’s wand stayed behind her ear the entire time.

A bolt of thunder rattled the windows, and she startled in her chair. Cursing at the mess of ink she’d spilled, she pulled some of her books away from the black puddle, hitting them with a quick  _ Scourgify.  _

The daylight outside had turned into night, the gentle breeze to a thick downpour. Glancing around, Hermione found that the library was nearly barren. Everyone, it seemed, had retreated to their respected common rooms. Where it was warm and dry and peaceful.

She buried her face in her hands, a shuddering breath escaping her.

Slowly, carefully, she put away her books and scrolls, ensuring her parchment wouldn’t be wrinkled or smeared. She’d completed enough assignments to last her the week -  _ and  _ the one after - but she felt no sense of accomplishment or relief. In fact, she was rather glad to leave the library, wand still gripped firmly in her hand.

Alone in the corridor, Hermione’s mind was racing with ideas, with thoughts. Of the  _ Prophet  _ and the Hogwarts students and the Death Eaters. 

Of the boy who had been left to deal with it. 

He had run from her that morning, but it wasn’t hard to find where he was. Locator spells weren’t difficult to cast. And not many Mandrake leaves were in the Astronomy Tower.

Walking at night was just as terrifying as before, but somehow her heart rate had lessened. Perhaps it was the security of her wand, the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to cast a wandless spell to ward off the creature. Having a purpose outside of her own reasons, though… That helped.

The hiss of rain on stone grew louder the further she climbed up those spiral stairs. The stairs she and Malfoy had ran up, chased by shadows that reeked of death. It was one of the most terrifying and one of the most comforting nights she’d experienced in her Eighth Year. 

Because she hadn’t been wholly alone.

She kept her footsteps silent as she entered the storm, the cool water stealing her breath from her. The rolling gray clouds were forked with lightning, but Hermione couldn’t find it in her to be afraid. 

Not when she saw Draco sitting on the other side of the tower.

He was sitting with his back to the wall, his face tipped toward the sky. Rain danced down his closed eyes, his clenched jaw. That dress shirt he always wore - so prim and neat and clean - was drenched and plastered to his pale skin. His green tie was gone.

Wordlessly, Hermione sat beside him, ignoring the way the rain soaked straight through her clothes. How long had it been since she’d been in the rain? At home, every downpour became a spontaneous dance party in the driveway. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Mum and Dad twirling through the puddles, laughing at nothing.

Did they remember those moments? Probably not. Taking herself out of their memories had lasting consequences. In some cases, it meant stealing away every memory that she had been a part of. 

So they wouldn’t remember the lazy Saturdays or the movie nights. The long road trips, the shopping, the sightseeing. Nothing that included her. 

She was more than grateful to Mrs. Weasley for being accepted into the Burrow. Ginny and George and all of their siblings had been more than willing to adopt her as part of their family, and she knew Harry was overjoyed to be in their home. 

But staying in that house, that place filled with warmth, Hermione had been slowly choking on the rising sense of guilt. 

She had stolen that future from her parents - ripped it away for the sake of  _ strategy,  _ of  _ what ifs  _ and her own, foolish worries. As if Voldemort would have been so foolish as to dedicate his resources toward going after  _ Muggles _ . So she deserved not to be with Ron, she  _ deserved  _ every hollow, empty hole that now pierced her chest. Because she was responsible for much worse things.

Cold fingers grasped her hand, and Hermione squeezed them without hesitation. A shaky breath left her parted lips.

“Did you know?” His words were hoarse. As though he’d been crying, or screaming. Or just not talking at all. 

She didn’t open her eyes, face tilted towards the clouds. “Yes. I learned earlier this morning.”

Draco didn’t let go of her hand. When she didn’t move, he raised their entwined fingers and pressed the back of her palm to his chest. The water in his shirt was cold, but the skin beneath was hot. So was the second hand he enclosed around her wrist. Hermione felt his shuttering breath rattling in his ribcage.

One by one, she opened her eyes. Raindrops fell heavy off her eyelashes, and she blinked them away. Draco was still gripping her hand, holding it as close to his sternum as he could. Staring into the empty space of the Hogwarts grounds, his gray eyes shining.

“I hate him,” he said through gritted teeth. But his tone was too soft to be hateful. “I hate him, I  _ hate  _ him, I  _ hate him _ ,  _ I hate him _ …”

On and on he went, his fingers tightening over her hand with every word. At the beginning, his voice was steady and sharp. As though he was the one sentencing his father, not the Ministry. As though he was condemning Lucius with every snarled breath. His skin stayed hot.

It was when Draco’s voice faltered that Hermione reached toward him. “I hate him,” he breathed, voice uneven and trembling. “I hate him, I hate him, I…”

His voice broke, and she was there to catch him when he fell forward. Never before would she have imagined Draco Malfoy  _ sobbing  _ into her shoulder, but here he was. Gripping her shoulders as though they were the only solid thing in the world. 

Hermione pulled him fiercely to herself, her heart twinging painfully in her chest when she felt his warm tears over the base of her neck. Her fingers found purchase in the matted strands of his blond hair, in the damp material of his shirt. The rain poured, the thunder roared, and still she held firm.

She barely registered the fact she was in his lap until he straightened slightly. A delicate flush dusted his cheeks, contradicting the slight frown turning down his mouth. His hands rose to cover his face, but she stopped him. 

“Don’t you dare hide,” she said, unable to stop the worry from leaking into her words. “I don’t want any of that Malfoy-Slytherin-manipulating bull.”

Something like amusement flickered in his eyes, but it was cloaked by the furrow in his brow. “Why are you here?” he asked. He said it so distantly, as though he couldn’t believe she was real.

_ Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone and in pain. _

Hermione shrugged and sat back on his knees, releasing his hands that she’d forgotten she was holding. Her palms felt colder. “Wanted to make sure you had all the ingredients for the Animagus ritual.”

“The phials are in my dorms, as is the dew.” The side of his mouth kicked up. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t keep my promise?”

“Malfoy-Slytherin-manipulating,” she reminded him, softer than she’d intended.

He nodded sagely, and the ghost of his smile shouldn’t have relieved her as much as it did. With all the grace of a gentleman, he stood and pulled her up with him. A sudden chill shot down her spine, and Hermione blew out a chattering breath, rubbing her arms over her shoulders.

“Get out of the rain before you catch some Muggle disease,” said Draco as he guided her toward the opening of the staircase. Lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating his high cheekbones.

She whipped her head around to glare up at him. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Draco blinked. Hermione felt her face heat.

“That’s not what I meant,” she choked out, but he was already laughing.

“So forward, Granger. And here I thought you only liked me for my intelligence.” But he didn’t leave her side as she started down the stairs, and for that she was grateful.

She sniffed, wringing out the droplets from her hair. “As if your ego has any room for that.”

Scoffing, he shook his head. And even though he seemed to be smiling, Hermione could see the grief clouding his face. Could understand it.

He walked her all the way to the Gryffindor portrait, where the fat lady was mercifully sleeping so she couldn’t spread any gossip. “Bury yourself under plenty of blankets,” he said swiftly, spinning on his heel.

“Draco.” Immediately he stilled. Hermione forced down the flutter in her ribcage. “Promise me you’ll come to classes tomorrow,” she said, twisting her floppy red tie between her fingers.

His pale hand balled into a fast at his side, then relaxed just as quickly. He moved as if to look over his shoulder, then chose against it. “Promise,” he murmured.

And though she refused to admit it to herself, Hermione went to bed with a smile on her face for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....what can i say  
> i'm a sucker for fluff


	18. Of Tables and Quidditch

The next few weeks passed in a rush of assignments and Quidditch games. 

Half the time, Hermione locked herself in her room with one of the trays Miffy brought her. The little house elf never missed a night, whether Hermione had been in the Great Hall or not. And while Miffy never stayed the night, she brought a kind of peace with her that let Hermione sleep easier.

Draco didn’t speak to her for a few days after the news of his father’s death came out. He didn’t speak to anyone. But he followed through on his promise and attended his classes, staying in the shadows and making his expression icy enough to keep professors from calling on him. 

It was shocking to see him so stoic after what had occurred in the Astronomy Tower.

She’d been tucked in an isolated alcove of the library, working on an essay on Ancient Runes, when he sat down across from her and pulled out his schoolwork. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, and his hair looked messier than usual. 

“It’s rude to stare,” he said after a moment, not lifting his gaze from his scrolls.

The corner of her mouth tugging up, Hermione went back to her studies.

Sometimes Draco would come to their designated library table with tussled clothes or purpling bruises. He wouldn’t say anything about them, so she kept her mouth shut, too. Sometimes he’d stare at nothing, twisting Lucius’s ring around his pale finger absentmindedly. Those days were the worst ones. 

Once, when his expression was especially haunted, Hermione had reached across the table and taken his hand in hers. Draco hadn’t jerked away from her. In fact, he’d used both his hands to trace the muscles of her fingers, the joints of her knuckles. A fire burned beneath her skin.

Keeping her eyes on her essay had been an effort.

It seemed to calm him, as the days went by. About halfway through whatever assignment Hermione was working through, Draco would take the seat next to her and bring her hand into his grasp, and his fingers would begin ghosting over the veins running through her palm. Tracing invisible shapes into her skin would keep him focused for hours, and his jaw would be set in concentration rather than anxiety.

Hermione didn’t mind in the slightest. Even as the days bled into weeks and still Draco interrupted her studying, she didn’t bat an eye. She understood what it felt like to feel as though you were drowning only to find one solitary anchor. You never wanted to leave that anchor, be it a person or a thing. 

Though she would try to deny it, Draco was as much her anchor as she was his. Or as her hand was his. 

They were sitting in such a position, her hand clasped between both of his, when Ginny burst into the room, eyes blazing. Draco didn’t release Hermione, who blinked at her friend.

“The Slytherins are cheating,” huffed Ginny, her hip banging into the corner of the table.

. Draco’s hands froze around hers, and Hermione exhaled through her nose. “I seriously doubt that, Gin. Their match against Ravenclaw-”

Ginny threw up her hands, oblivious to Hermione’s look of warning. “Was a total scam, I know. No way were their Chasers able to get around McKinley without _some_ kind of charm. I mean, it’s _McKinley._ There’s a reason Fred and George had to double team him.”

“What have those blasted Slytherins done this time?” asked Malfoy, his ever amused tone making his mouth twitch.

Grabbing the back of a chair, Ginny straddled it, cursing when her school bag snagged on a splinter. Hermione grimaced as Ginny’s books slammed onto the table, knocking her quill out of her grip. “They’ve never been this good, Malfoy - not even when you were a Seeker.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they’ve gotten a better coach.”

Hermione had to swallow down her laugh. Did Ginny know how he had taken over his House’s Quidditch training?

Apparently not, because she said, “Can’t be. Coaching can’t make up for talent, Malfoy, as much as one might wish it did.” She drummed her fingers on the wood, agitated. Her eyes flashed as she snapped her gaze to him. “What do you know about it?”

“Why are you asking him?” said Hermione.

Ginny shrugged, leaning closer to Draco. “I’d talk to McGonagall about it, but if I’m wrong - which I’m _not_ ,” she added at their skeptical looks, “- then I don’t want to be responsible for whatever punishment the Headmistress inflicts.”

“I can assure you the Slytherins have been nothing but sportsmanlike in their Quidditch playing,” said Draco, rolling the joint of Hermione’s thumb between his fingertips. 

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Ginny’s gaze turned pleading. Hermione rolled her eyes when the redhead switched her focus from Draco to her. “Just come to the game tonight - _please._ I want to make sure I’m not just imagining this.” 

Hermione didn’t miss the darting glance Ginny shot to Draco’s hands, how his attention was back to stretching out the joints of Hermione’s wrist. This wouldn’t just be a conversation about Quidditch - no, Ginny wanted details. Hermione had been avoiding the topic of Draco for the month, but it seemed her roommate was growing impatient.

Nothing was going on outside of a tentative, but the Weasleys were insatiable when it came to gossip.

She sighed, and Ginny grinned in triumph. 

“Great! It starts in an hour, so I need to get down there for practice,” she rushed, shouldering her bag. Squeezing Hermione’s shoulder, she leaned down and murmured, “I better not look towards the stands and find you snogging the Death Eater out of him.”

A thousand snapping remarks rose in Hermione’s throat, but Ginny was already gone, Madam Pince shushing her on the way out. Defeated, she slumped back in her seat, running her quill hand down her face. 

“Finished already?” Draco straightened to peer down at the parchment. Then he laughed. “This isn’t due for another three weeks.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much else to do,” said Hermione, a wave of frustration crashing over her. Nothing noteworthy had happened to her over the past few weeks - the figure hadn’t made a reappearance or anything of the sort - but she still felt so utterly _helpless._

The pads of Draco’s thumbs pressed into the very center of her palm, and she looked up at him. His eyes were brighter than usual. “You know what tonight is?” he asked, his smooth voice edged with excitement.

“A Quidditch game,” she said drily. “Outside. In the cold. Where I’m supposed to watch cheating kids _not cheat_ for _two bloody hours_.”

Letting go of her hand, Draco reached down and grabbed her satchel, carefully sliding her books in as he spoke. “Full moon, Granger. The night we get to take these Mandrake leaves and grow tails.”

She shot up in her seat, feeling more awake than she had in weeks. “Already?” 

Had it really crept up so quickly? She supposed she hadn’t been thinking of it much. Dwelling on the hints of another possible Horcrux had kept her from sleeping, so she’d tried to push the thought of it as far away from her as possible.

But now that they were about to get into that Section, about to learn more about their situation… A thrill raced down her spine, and she stood to leave.

Draco had already finished packing up her back, and he slung the satchel around her shoulder. “Merlin, Granger, try not to look too excited. People might get the wrong idea about us.” His smile was more coyly amused than animated, but Hermione couldn’t help it.

“Do I look like I care?” she said, digging her hands furiously through her hair as she spun towards the exit, practically intoxicated with relief at the prospect of _finally figuring out the puzzle -_

Draco walked directly behind her as they entered the corridors swarming with students, his arm occasionally brushing hers. “You’re going to have to come up with some sort of excuse to your roommate for being gone for the night,” he said, low enough so others didn't hear.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione surveyed the laughing students with a look of annoyance. At this rate, it’d take them the hour before they reached the Quidditch fields. Was the entire school going? 

“Yes, I know,” she said once she remembered to answer him. “We’ll go into the Forbidden Forest until it’s...over.” The transformation from wizard to beast. The illegal act she had to keep secret for Draco’s sake.

She continued after they’d shoved their way through the main doors, exposing themselves to the whipping evening winds. “Hagrid’s the only one who makes the rounds outside, so he’s the only one who might catch us. And if he does, I’ll convince him not to say anything.”

“Honestly, Granger, with that sort of cunning, why are you in Gryffindor?” He was walking on her right side, now, close enough that she had to crane her neck up if she wanted to meet his eyes. Which she didn’t. At least, that’s what she told herself.

The crowds appeared even thicker out here, and Hermione pursed her lips. “Why aren’t you already out there?” she asked, glancing up at Draco.

Strands of platinum hair blew into his face, and he raked it back, his smile tighter. “Blaise is captain of the team, so he takes over during games.”

Hermione heard the unspoken explanation behind his words. _So people won’t see that a Malfoy is in charge of the Quidditch team._

She clenched her hands into fists to hide her shaking fingers.

Students of all Houses were crammed into the bleachers, wearing all sorts of ridiculous hats or ludicrous costumes. Gryffindors with scarlet-painted faces jeered at the Slytherins, tugging at their green scarves as they passed. It was all in fun, but a few of her housemates were taking things too seriously. One of those unfortunate individuals chose Draco as their target.

“Hope you’ve still got that Dark Mark, Malfoy, because you’re going to need the power of You-Know-Who to win this match,” sneered a stout boy, his chubby fingers curled on the hem of Draco’s robe.

A muscle ticked in Draco’s jaw, but he didn’t even acknowledge the Gryffindor’s presence and kept walking forward. Unfortunately, this only seemed to infuriate the boy, and he moved to give Draco a violent shove. 

Hermione stepped between them at the last moment, just in time for the boy’s fists to connect with her ribs. Gasping, she staggered backwards into a warm body, pain lancing through her chest. 

The Gryffindor’s face went ashen, and his mouth moved as if to apologize, but Draco was already dragging her away. An arm around her waist, he kept her pressed to his side as they navigated the crowd. Hermione’s ribs ached, though it wasn’t so painful she had to adjust her posture. _Just a passionate Quidditch fan_ , she told herself, fighting down the urge to go back there and fling curses at the boy.

Once they’d found empty seats in the very back of one of the sections, Draco released his hold on her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, trying to ignore the concerned look he was giving her. Glancing around, she frowned a bit. “Where are we?”

He scratched at his neck for a long moment before answering. “Slytherin bleachers.” Leaning closer, he said quieter, “No one’s going to approach you here, which wouldn’t be the case with the Gryffindors.”

True to his words, the Slytherins didn’t so much as glance at Draco, their focus purposefully excluding his presence. 

She shrugged. “Their loss,” she said simply, scooting forward as the whistle sounded. Draco shifted beside her, his knee banging into hers as he braced his elbows on his thighs. 

The Gryffindor team shot out of the lockers, Ginny leading them with a broad grin. Raising her fist toward the Gryffindor bleachers, she roared a battle cry, which her House eagerly returned. Her eyes were scanning for someone specific, though, and something in her face crumpled.

Ignoring her location, Hermione put her hands to her mouth and whooped. “Go Ginny!” she shouted, standing. “The best Keeper Hogwarts has ever seen!”

A burst of wind blew her hair back as Ginny zoomed past, waving brightly at both her and Draco. She laughed when the other Gryffindor players went slack-jawed, shocked to see her acknowledging the green ties and immaculate hairstyles.

She sat back down, then winced towards Draco. “Sorry, you probably don’t want the attention. I should have thought of that earlier.”

His gray eyes glinted with amusement. “I don’t mind,” he said, the left side of his mouth lifting.

The Slytherins were out next, and the bleachers beneath Hermione shook as everyone stood, screaming and hollering as one. Even in the very back, she could feel the buzzing energy of excitement singing through her bones. Draco didn’t rise, but his shoulders tensed in anticipation.

“The one leading is Killian Moore,” he said into her ear. “Best Chaser I’ve ever worked with. She could fly through a hurricane without a problem. The other two beside her are Levi Jenkins and Samantha Combe. Killian’s a fierce player, but she has no strategy. Those two help balance her out.

“Now, the two beaters are a little shaky - Emma and Jakob. I thought they’d work well because they were friends, but then they got _involved._ ” He gave a dry laugh. “I should have figured it was too good to be true. So now they’re either at each other’s throats or devouring each other. The number of players hit by Bludgers has gone up considerably this season, and no wonder.”

Hermione frowned at the two Beaters, who switched between glaring at one another and grinning broadly at the spectators. “If they’re so distracted, why not kick them off?”

“Parents, unfortunately,” said Draco between his teeth. “The Combe family has had a hand in every Ministry decision for the past two centuries, and the Jenkins… A long line of Azkaban wardens. Like everyone, they’re just waiting for an opportunity to squash me like the little bugger I am.” He forced a tight smile as the indignation of it all rose in her chest, threatening to spill over.

“As soon as this Horcrux business is done, I’m clearing your name once and for all,” she said. “I swear it.”

A flash of emotion went through his eyes, quickly covered by an aloof expression. “Then we’d better make sure we don’t die trying,” he said, turning back to the Quidditch pitch as the game whistle blew. 

He picked up her hand a few moments later, stretching the tendons as he usually did. So while the rest of Hermione went numb from the late fall chill, her hand stayed warm in both of his. 

As suspected, the Slytherin team did nothing to merit Ginny’s accusations, aside from playing exceptionally well. Their only weak spot were their Beaters, who more often than not would be preoccupied screaming at each other. Draco’s jaw tensed every time the Bludgers managed to nick one of his Chasers, as though he were fighting the urge to stomp onto the field and yell at them.

“I don’t envy their next practice,” Hermione murmured when the Beaters, once again, failed to protect the seeker - a pretty girl with black hair and almond eyes. One who was slowly losing patience with her teammates.

Draco’s mouth was a grim line. “You have no idea.”

A howl rose in the Gryffindor bleachers as Ginny slammed the Quaffle through one of the rings, pushing her team ten points ahead of Slytherin. Both Seekers sat idly on their brooms, gazes darting wilding over the sky. 

With a sharp intake of breath, Draco’s fingers froze around her wrist. Hermione saw that the Seekers were diving to the ground, rocketing towards a shine of gold. Neck and neck, neither pulling ahead or dropping back.

It was either House’s game.

But Hermione didn’t get to see who won, because Pigwidgeon chose that exact moment to perch on her shoulder, squawking loudly in her ear. His feathers were ruffled in all directions, and he appeared more exhausted than usual.

Blinking in surprise, she scowled at the owl. “What do you want now?” she whispered harshly, eyes narrowed on the parchment in Pig’s beak. Not an envelope, just a scrap of paper.

With her free hand, she grabbed it and spread it over her thigh with her cold-stiff fingers. 

_Dementors were sent after Malfoy. The Ministry overruled the need for a trial - apparently the evidence they found demands it. His death time is set for 21:02._

_Do what you must._

_~ Harry._

“What time is it?” she breathed, tearing her gaze away from the letter.

Draco’s attention had been on the game, so he looked dazed. But he pulled out his wand, cast a swift charm, and said, “About 20:45. Why?”

Without another word, Hermione jammed Harry’s note into her satchel and pulled Draco to his feet. He didn’t object as she dragged him out of the stands, but she could sense his confusion. She didn’t have time to explain - not with the Dementor’s minutes from arrival.

Out of sight now, she broke into a run, making for the barren entrance of the castle. Everyone who hadn’t attended the Quidditch game were either in their common rooms or the library, so she made sure to avoid those connecting hallways.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Draco asked once they were deep in the heart of Hogwarts.

Pulling him into an alcove, Hermione let out a sharp breath. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?” she demanded. “Are you still involved with the Dark Arts? With the Death Eaters?”

He stilled, and she could have sworn a flash of hurt crossed his features. “No. No, I got out. And that gave me enough trouble. Why would I go back?”

Her hand was still in his, but she felt no need to pull it away. Especially if it meant keeping him close to her, keeping him protected. 

“We can’t stay here. The Ministry has sent Dementors after you,” Draco flinched, “and there will be no trial this time.”

He didn’t look surprised. Fear stiffened his shoulders, made his eyes sharper, but he forced a smirk. “Then I guess it’s time for me to leave,” he said, turning on his heel.

But Hermione wasn’t done with him, her hand shooting out to grab his tie. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s time for _us_ to leave,” she corrected, voice hard. “You think I’m going to abandon you?”

“You came back to Hogwarts to finish your education,” he reminded her, his tone impossibly calm. “What are you going to do - throw that away for a life of being on the run from authorities?” When she didn’t respond, he gave her a small smile. “You’re a rule follower - always have been.”

“No.” she murmured, then firmer, “ _No._ I hate it here, Draco. I hate the mediocrity, the restricted information, the sugar-coated truths and absolutely _meaningless_ conflict between the Houses. I thought… I thought by coming here, I would be safe. I would forget. But I haven’t, and everything has gotten worse, and _you_ -” _Make me feel safe. Make me think I might have a shot at living without being compressed by my fear._ “I’m not leaving you, no matter the situation. So get that through your head and _stop arguing with me_.”

Trembling slightly, she banged her fist into the stone George had shown her so long ago, and a staircase opened up in the wall. Draco’s face was unreadable, his silver eyes stormy.

“We don’t have a change of clothes,” was all he said, his eyes not leaving hers.

“We’ll make do.” She didn’t wait for his response before she shoved him through the passageway. 

Musty air surrounded them immediately, clinging to their clothes like a second skin. His chest was pressed to her shoulder blade, so she could feel his breathing as well as she heard it. 

Hermione slid Bellatrix’s wand out from behind her ear and turned back, facing the distant, frantic shouting that now echoed down the corridors of Hogwarts.

“ _Colloportus_ ,” she whispered.

The door slid shut, and then it was just Hermione, Draco, and the light of his wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!  
> i know i haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry to keep you waiting.  
> this chapter is shorter than most, but I hope you enjoy.  
> ~ katie <3


	19. Of Hills and Bravery

It had been years since she’d last used this passage. Fred and George had been known as the class clowns, but their discovery of the secret tunnels running throughout the castle was truly one of their best accomplishments. 

Though George would surely argue against that.

“It won’t take us long to reach Hogsmeade,” she murmured, scanning the cracking walls of the passageway.

Draco’s wand cast long, sharp shadows over the planes of his face. “We can’t stay there.”

“I know that,” she snapped, then took a deep breath. Panic was rising in her throat, and she forced it down. “I know. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“There’s something else we have to consider,” he said, his mouth a grim line. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out two silver phials. 

Hermione turned away, muttering curses. He didn’t have a change of clothes, but  _ of course  _ he was carrying around phials of untouched dew. 

Truth be told, she  _ hadn’t  _ considered the unfinished Animagus spell. They were supposed to go to the Forbidden Forest after the Quidditch game, where they’d have plenty of time to cast silencing charms and go through their first transformation. But now…

Walking faster, Hermione said, “If we don’t have access to the Restricted Section, there’s no point.”

“But now we’re on the run.” Draco frowned at the small door looming in the distance, and he raised his wand higher. “Being an Animagi worked for Sirius Black. Can’t hurt to take an extra precaution.”

Hermione placed her hand on the handle of the ancient door, but she didn’t open it. Yanking a strand of hair out of her mouth, she pulled Bellatrix’s wand out from behind her ear. “And where do you suggest we perform the spell? In an abandoned shack where any Muggle or Dementor can find us? The first transformation makes us  _ vulnerable,  _ leaves us  _ weak.  _ We can’t risk that right now.”

Huffing, she opened the door and slipped through, wand at the ready. Honeyduke’s cellar was barren, thank Merlin. Draco sniffed at the layer of dust coating the barrels of butterbeer.

Hermione closed the door and cast a series of  _ Confundo  _ spells around it, hoping it would at least daze anyone who tried to come through. Raking a hand through her hair, she flopped onto one of the overturned crates and rubbed at her temples. 

“I know a place we can do it,” said Draco quietly. Hermione looked up at him. The moment he made eye contact, he glanced away. His throat bobbed. “It’s safe for the time being, but it won’t be for long.”

Nodding, Hermione clasped her hands together. “We just need a night, that’s it. And then we can... figure it out.”

Draco slumped to the floor directly across from her, his arms folded over his knees. When he wiped a hand down his face, Lucius’s ring shining on his finger, Hermione nearly broke.

Harry’s letter was still in her pocket. Reluctantly, she checked her watch.

Draco’s death time had been set for a few minutes ago.

No trial, no warning aside from that of her best friend. Hermione clenched her fists over her pants. 

The reality of what she’d done came crashing over her - a wave of heavy, crushing fear. She was no longer welcome at Hogwarts. The place that had taken her in, cared for her when she felt the most alone. What could McGonagall be thinking right now?

The boy across from her had his face covered in his hands, elbows braced on his legs. He didn’t make a sound, but his shoulders were rigid. It became hard for her to breathe.

Because she’d forgotten - for one miserable, selfish second - that she wasn’t the only one affected.

How many times had Draco Malfoy been falsely accused in the last year alone? She thought back to the time she’d defended him from those Aurors months ago, the time when she’d dragged him into Flourish and Blott’s without a second thought. Every opportunity she got, Hermione had fought for him. But now… Now she was powerless.

As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t protect him from the might of the Ministry. Maybe if she’d started training as an Auror with Ron and Harry, maybe if she hadn’t gone back to school…

But she couldn’t think like that. 

“They think…” She took a breath, rolling her eyes at the stupidity of it all. “They think you’re responsible for killing the rogue Death Eaters.”

Draco didn’t look up from his hands. “I thought as much.” His pale, spindly fingers twisted his father’s ring, as though he were thinking of taking it off.

“The Order had dozens of safehouses throughout the country - surely we can hide out in one of those until this whole mess is fixed.” Hermione flinched towards the door, certain she’d heard footsteps. The door was still closed. There was nothing there.

Standing, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. His hair was wild around his face, gray eyes pained. “We only have a few hours until midnight,” he murmured, voice barely a rasp. “I have some place we can go.”

“Okay, what is it?” Her words were noticeably quieter, afraid of giving away their position.

“If I tell you, you won’t go,” he said, trying at a smirk. It didn’t hold, and the corner of his mouth wavered.

Hermione chewed at her thumbnail, holding his stare. “As long as it’s only one night,” she murmured, thinking of all the places he might take her, “I trust you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, the door trembled with a thousand footsteps _.  _ She grabbed Draco, stumbling backwards. “Apparate,” she breathed, wide-eyed. When he hesitated, breath hitched in his throat, she dug her fingernails into his arm. “ _ Draco-” _

A murmur of warning, an arm around her, and a deafening  _ crack _ . Hermione felt herself being dissolved into the air, and she sucked in a breath as Draco’s hold tightened. Then it was a void, nothing but darkness and fear and a great, big empty hole dragging them down, down, down…

The jolt of the landing sang through her bones, and she scrambled to grab whatever steady thing she could get her hands on. But her arms were trapped by someone else, and they were pressed so closely together they might have been one person.

Hermione let out an  _ oomph  _ when they finally stopped rolling, grass scratching at her fingers. Groaning, she pushed herself away from Draco, who looked reluctant to let her go.

Silence fell like a blanket around her. “I don’t…” She frowned at the thin glow of sunlight lining the horizon, veiled from sight by the thick grove of trees. “Where are we?”

“Might be better if you don’t know,” said Draco. He was on his feet, his expression switching between discomfort and relief.

He relighted his wand and started down a narrow trail. One that no one would have noticed unless they already knew it existed. She followed close behind, careful to keep him in her sights despite the growing darkness. The white of his dress shirt helped, but the surrounding forest was nearly black. Each step was a risk, especially when the path grew steeper.

The hill couldn’t be classified as a mountain, but it might as well have been. Rocks stabbed against her shoes, pebbles skittering as she grabbed at the trees for stability. Draco periodically looked back to check on her, and she never let him see how breathless she really was. If he could keep the grueling pace, so would she.

Even if her throat was raw, and the stitch in her side was worse than her period cramps. 

Hermione was clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering when Draco stopped, his back straightening. Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. “This should be safe enough.”

Pushing herself through the last few strides, the beating in her chest stuttered at the sight before them. Far below the hill’s peak was a sprawling mansion, surrounded by a decorative labyrinth of a garden. A high wall enclosed the garden, and Hermione sucked in a breath at the giant  _ M  _ gleaming on the gate.

“Your home,” she breathed, unable to bring herself to speak the estate’s actual name.  _ Malfoy Manor. _

The place where she and Ron and Harry were imprisoned, the place where Dobby had died, the place where she had been  _ tortured- _

She dug her fingernails into her palm, the pain keeping the memories at bay. They weren’t there - not really. They weren’t inside the manor. It was just the woods.  _ Just the woods. _

Draco nodded, his gray eyes hard. “It’ll take them an hour or so to search Hogsmeade. Enough time to transfigure ourselves.”

“Sounds good.” It took all that was left of her energy to keep her voice from wavering. “Give me a phial.”

A small crease appeared between his eyebrows, but he handed it to her. “Which animal did you choose?” he asked, cold fingers brushing hers as he pulled away.

Hermione tried to force some of that bold, Gryffindor amusement into her gaze. “A cat. It’s easy to look over, and I figured Crookshanks would need a friend.”

Her amusement was contagious, it seemed. “I honestly thought that cat was dead already.”

“A Slytherin being honest?” She flattened a mocking hand against her heart, grinning at Draco.. It took a moment for her to remember the time constraint they were working under. Her expression turned heavy. 

Almost painfully, Draco dropped his eyes, regret flashing briefly over his face.

Bellatrix’s wand was still in her grip, and she flicked it towards him. “You transfigure first.”

Something like alarm made him go rigid. “What? No, I can’t. I won’t be able to control myself in an Animagus form.”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” said Hermione drily, one hand on her hip. “It’ll take you five minutes. Just transfigure, get used to it, and change back.”

But Draco was adamant. “What about you?”

Through gritted teeth, she huffed. “I’ll go after. One of us has to keep watch.”

“Then you go first and I’ll go after,” he said, curling his hands into agitated fists.

“ _ No _ .” Fury burned hot through her chest, and she glared at him through the moonlight. “Either you transfigure first or we  _ don’t do this. _ ”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he stepped closer. She narrowed her eyes, daring him to challenge her.

He looked as though he wanted to say something but it got lodged in his throat. Several minutes of tense silence passed. Hermione glared through it all.

“Fine,” he muttered at last. Flicking off the stopper, he dumped the contents of one of the phials into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. Hermione watched him carefully, shifting her grip on Bellatrix’s wand. 

On one side of her was the mountain peak, overlooking Malfoy Manor. On the other, amidst the trees, was Draco. His wand was pressed to his chest, pointed directly to his heart.

“If anything goes wrong while I’m transfigured,” he said, strangely quiet, “get as far away from here as you can. I’ll find you eventually.”

“Sure,” she lied. Then, lighter, “I hope you chose a good form.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Face pale in the moonlight, Draco spoke the incantation. The tip of his wand glowed green over his Hogwarts uniform, and he closed his eyes.

Hermione’s heart jumped in her throat when his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, panting through his teeth. An unnatural cracking sound rang through the trees, bones breaking and rebonding beneath his skin. His back hunched, his head hanging between his arms, and his body went completely white.

The manor in her peripheral, in case the Aurors came barging in, she sucked in a breath as Draco finally stopped spasming, a heap of white fur panting on the ground. “You okay?” she called, voice hushed for fear of alerting unfriendly forest creatures.

On shaky legs, the massive beast rose from the dirt and leaves, his pure white fur shining. A beautiful wolf the size of a pony stared her down, its breath fogging in front of its muzzle. Four massive paws, raised hackles, and cold gray eyes that pinned her to the spot. A low growl warned her to stay away.

Despite her fear, Hermione smiled. “You were always one for dramatics,” she said. “Alright, Draco. Time to wake up.”

The white wolf snarled, prowling closer.

Frowning, she considered her options. Why didn’t he recognize her? Would he truly try to attack her? She didn’t want to stun him with a hex, even if she had to.

Wolves, she recalled, relied heavily on scent. And she was downwind - since Draco couldn’t scent her, he couldn’t recognize her. It was risky, but…

The night air stung her cheeks as she sprinted from her position and into the woods. As expected, Draco ran after her, his powerful form eating up the distance between them. It would only be a few seconds until he lunged. Whatever she needed to do, she had to do it fast.

Face heated with exertion, Hermione spun around and lifted her hands, wincing at the blur of white barreling toward her. He knocked her down, and a sharp pain spiked through her back. The wolf’s paws were on her shoulders, its muzzle directly above her face. The full weight of its body was close to crushing her ribcage, and she held her breath. Saliva dripped from its canines.

Chest heaving, she let out a nervous laugh. “Draco,” she said. Fiercer, “ _ Draco. _ ”

Lip curled, the beast’s maw loomed closer. Something changed in its eyes, and it sniffed the air. The growling stopped, and it leaned toward her forehead, its cold nose snuffling through her hair.

“Are you done?” she asked, one hand buried in the thick fur of its neck.

The wolf went rigid, and it leaped off of her. She brushed the leaves from her shirt, watching with amusement as Draco paced awkwardly beside her, a guilty sort of look clouding his eyes.

Smiling, a little delirious, she patted the space between his fluffy ears. “Good choice. Now, if you wouldn’t mind turning back into a wizard…”

Immediately, in an almost gentle flash of light, Draco reappeared in front of her. He shot to his feet, hair tousled, clothes rumpled. A faint blush dusted his cheeks.

“What did I smell like?” She grinned at his unease, toying with her wand.

He scratched at his neck. Thank Merlin he was still wearing clothes. “Nothing I can remember,” he said. She knew he was lying but didn’t push. There was no point in it.

If they weren’t so rushed, she would have waited until he could transfigure again. The first shifts were the most difficult, and it would be hours before he had the energy to turn back into his Animagus form.

The moment he opened his mouth, an outraged shriek cut through the natural calm of the woods. Both of them ran for the peak, eyes wide as they beheld the manor below. 

Dark-cloaked wizards stood in the garden, surrounding a light-haired woman. Hermione glimpsed Draco’s panic. Narcissa Malfoy was screaming at the Aurors, something about  _ Property  _ or  _ Nothing wrong.  _ Some were laughing, others peering around the garden. Her stomach dropped when she saw even more casting locating spells.

Draco’s strong hands were on her shoulders, and she nearly gasped at the intensity of his expression. The utter fear. 

“You have to transfigure  _ now,  _ before the moon passes,” he said, voice close to shaking. “Cats are nimble, yeah? We’ll run off through the woods before-”

A sharp  _ crack  _ cut through his words, and he pushed her behind him. The two Aurors from before - the ones who had ordered Draco to give them Lucius’ ring - smiled triumphantly, wands raised. “Well,” the round-faced man said, “you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Though Hermione couldn’t see him, she could imagine his tight smile. “Gryffindors. I should have known.”

The men bristled. “At least we’re not  _ cowards _ ,” the other Auror hissed.

“True. It takes a lot of bravery to dress in that hideous maroon.”

She nearly smiled when she realized what Draco was doing. Giving her time.

While the men squabbled, she swallowed down the contents of her phial, nearly choking on the foul taste. Hermione pressed the tip of Bellatrix’s wand to her chest, but she froze when red light exploded into the center of Draco’s chest.

As the spell dragged him into the arms of the Aurors,  _ away from her _ , he twisted around to meet her eyes. She read the plea in his eyes.  _ Run. _

Fuming, she put her wand to her sternum and spoke the damning words. The Aurors raised their wands, but the magic was already burning through her veins. All she knew was indignation and helplessness and  _ rage rage rage. _

Her focus slipped through her fingers like water, that image of a calico cat fading into something harder, something impossible. Anger burned through her common sense, burned and burned and burned until she felt like she was exploding with fire.

Animals don’t think. Instinct and experience is all they know.

So Hermione didn’t think. Didn’t consider the implications of her decision. Because all she knew was  _ protect  _ and  _ kill  _ and  _ protect. _

She didn’t know where she was, what she was doing. Someone was screaming, but she didn’t recognize them. Her vision turned wholly black, and her mouth was a useless tongue of flame. 

Hours seemed to pass before she felt something other than rage. Someone’s hands. They were running over her face, sure and cold and comforting. Her heart fluttered in her ribcage.

_ Hermione. _

Was that her name? She’d never heard anyone speak so tenderly. Who was speaking? They sounded so calm, so gentle. She chased those hands on her face, searching for the owner.

She smelled mint. Spearmint. Grass. Fresh smoke. 

_ It’s alright, it’s alright.  _ Those hands brushed around her eyes, and a sliver of light reappeared in her line of vision.  _ Change back and rest. Come back to me, Hermione. _

_ Rest. _

There was a thread in her mind, now, dangling in a sea of blackness.  _ Rest,  _ it called.  _ Change back and rest. _

She wasn’t sure if she trusted the voice in her head, but she trusted the voice outside her head. The thread was silk in her grasp. She pulled, and her consciousness flooded with sense, bright and pure as the dawn.

Hermione was resting on something warm, and she tried to open her eyes. But someone put a hand over her face, and she was too weak to resist them.

“Shh.” She knew that voice like she knew her own mind. “You’re safe. Rest. Please. Everything will be okay in the morning.”

Though she wanted to retort, her tongue had turned to lead. She closed her eyes and fell asleep before she could think anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!  
> i know this update is very late, but i hope you enjoy it!! thanks for all the love <3 <3  
> ~ katie <3


	20. Of Blood and Quilts

When Hermione opened her eyes, all she could see was fire.

Then her focus cleared, and the flames were confined to a fireplace. A boy was crouched in front of the crackling sticks, adjusting the logs with an iron poker. His shirt hung on the mantle, the pale expanse of his back dancing in the pulsing light of the fire. 

_ Draco _ .

They were in a small room, only one window set in the wall. It showed a flurry of snow falling from the heavens, blanketing the evergreen trees outside. So they had made it out of the Malfoy estate. Somewhere else, somewhere cold.

A heavy quilt had been wrapped around her, and she struggled to push herself up from the cot. Strands of her hair stuck to the flattened pillow, and she brushed them away.

At the sounds of her sitting up, Draco glanced back. He was at her side in an instant, a hand pressed to her head as he scanned her face. “How do you feel?”

“Confused,” she said honestly. Lowering her gaze slightly, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “What…” Unthinking, she reached for him.

He drew back from her as if she’d slapped him, his eyes shuttering. They stared at one another for a long second, and Hermione’s heart dropped.  _ He doesn’t trust me. _

And the day Percy had forced them to duel, the day she had chosen  _ sectumsempra _ out of all curses...

Clasping her hand together, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry, I’m so, so-”

“They’re from Voldemort.” His lips twisted upwards slightly, trying to force lightness into his tone. He stood a good distance away from the cot. “When he lived in the manor.”

That fire rekindled in her core, and Draco’s eyes went wide. He rushed back to her, cool hands framing her face. Her breathing hitched. Why was he panicking? Everything was okay, she would protect him. 

But when she tried to convey that, all she could taste was ash.

“Not again, not again,” he murmured. Her hands were curled into fists around the heavy quilt, and he reached for them, searching her face with a look of concern. The little cabin had turned cold.

Her eyes glazed over.

“I’m okay,” Draco was saying, his voice the only steady thing in the whirlwind of her vision. “I’m right here, Granger. Now  _ snap out of it _ .”

Palms flat over his chest, Hermione felt his heartbeat. Felt his life. She could breathe again. 

Head falling forward, she gasped at the sense that cooled her veins, the headache it brought. Draco stroked her hair, holding her steady through it.

“What happened?” she rasped, throat dry.

“You’re an idiot, that’s what.” His breath was hot over her temple, and she shivered. Curled into his side, she focused on his breathing, her cheek warm on his skin.

Lifting her head to look at him, she leveled her voice enough to say, “How’d we get out?”

Draco looked at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “You carried us,” he said. “Don’t you remember?”

“Cats must have a shoddy memory,” she muttered to herself, thinking. 

“Or dragons.”

She froze.

_ Dragons. _

Draco’s look confirmed it, his jaw set tightly as he gauged her reaction.

She pressed closer to him, her mind racing.

Animagi were powerful, yes, but none had turned into a dragon. Not only was it illegal, but all attempts had landed the wizards in St. Mungo’s with a long list of injuries. The biggest animal any wizard had managed was a Hippogriff, and the perpetrator had gone straight to Azkaban. 

“It was supposed to be a cat,” she said weakly, blood draining from her face.

That feeling of powerlessness when Draco had been taken from her, the rage that had built inside of her… She’d lost her focus and let her emotions run wild. 

A few flashes of memory came back to her. Fire stoking in her belly, sparking out of her mouth, smoke curling from her nostrils. Crunching bone, the burst of blood exploding over her tongue like the juice of a berry, an earthshaking roar. Cold air stinging at her wings, talons curled around something precious, more valuable than any gold or jewelry. 

She was trembling, even as Draco pulled her closer.

Draco was the one who had spoken to her in the end - that much she knew for sure. 

_ You carried us. _

How far had she flown? How long had it taken Draco to coax her into changing back?

When she looked up to him, an apology rising in her throat, he smiled softly. “You’re magnificent,” he said and rested his chin on her head.

Stunned, Hermione blinked.  _ Magnificent  _ \- what an odd word for someone who had screwed up everything, who had killed two Aurors, who was foolish enough to transfigure into one of the few animals explicitly forbidden by wizarding law. 

Something warmed in her, then, and it wasn’t a wildfire.

“What did I look like?” she said.

“No dragon I’ve ever seen.” Draco didn’t flinch when she flexed her palm over his sternum, fingers brushing against his white scars. “Red and gold scales, eyes that glowed like embers-”

“Blood-stained teeth,” she murmured. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear those Aurors’ screams. Could feel their magic fading with their life.

Draco huffed a sigh, his grip around her unrelenting. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, then I guess they spontaneously combusted.”

“Do you think I had any control when I was a wolf?” he asked, his voice sharper. “If anyone else had been around, I probably would have killed them, too.”

She shifted in his hold, keeping her face down. “I lost my focus out there. I was supposed to be a cat, not a…”

His voice softened. “Not a what?”

“A monster.” Wiping a hand down her face, she willed her expression to harden back into indifference. No use in dwelling on it. They had bigger issues. 

Stepping away from him, Hermione rose off the cot on steady legs. Her clothes were wrinkled from sleeping for so long, but at least she didn’t reek that badly. Bellatrix’s wand sat on the mantel, and she tucked it behind her ear.

“Where are we exactly?” she asked, moving to peer outside the window.

Draco rubbed the material of his shirt between his fingers, slipping it back over his torso. Hermione pretended not to notice the streaks of dirt and rips torn through the material, claws of ice closing around her heart. Had she done that?

Buttoning it, he said, “Somewhere in Scandinavia. You seemed to know where you were going when you landed at this cabin.”

“Probably one of the Order’s safehouses.” She studied the rest of the small space, frowning at the clear lack of provisions. “Do we have any food?”

“I was waiting for you to wake up before I went...hunting,” he said hesitantly. 

She nearly asked what he meant before she realized. “Oh. Okay.” As his hand closed around the door handle, she added, “I want to shift again later today.”

Draco nodded, his eyes resting on hers for a beat too long. “As soon as I get back, you can eat and regain some strength. Another shift might make you even weaker,” he said.

A freezing wind blew past him when he opened the door, the flames in the fireplace thrashing wildly. In a flash of green light, a white wolf stood in his place, fluffy tail wagging slightly. In another instant, he was gone, a blur in the snow.

Hermione watched him leave, chewing on the inside of her cheek. A few moments passed where she almost closed the door, but when the time came, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Before anything else happened, she needed to get control of her Animagus form. There wasn’t any time to spare.

Shutting the cabin door firmly behind her, she sucked in a stinging gulp of the freezing air. Scandinavia didn’t mess around.

She didn’t give herself time to think about it and pulled on that thread of power wound inside of her. A warm, tingling sensation spread through her body, and she breathed deeper and deeper. Muscles seizing, she tasted the ash in her mouth, felt the heat of the embers in her belly. A forked tongue flicked in her vision, and she smiled.

A dragon indeed.

Craning her long neck around, she studied the massive wings stretching out of her shoulders, the blood red membrane bordered with golden scales. Her tail alone was the height of Gryffindor tower, and her scaled head rose above the treeline. The cabin was the size of an outhouse compared to her new form. 

But the blizzard swarming around her made it hard to concentrate, and she huffed smoke. 

The scent of fresh blood blew in from the trees, coming toward her. She caught a spearmint smell lingering around it. Draco was dragging back his kill.

Quickly, she crouched and leaped into the sky, taking a few wingbeats to balance herself in the air. He’d probably skin the animal outside the cabin, so she had a good fifteen minutes before her absence was found out. She had to take as much time as she could to learn how to use her new form.

Snow brushed over her scales, but it cooled the flames rising in her throat. The urge to roar out her agitation burned hot through her skin. Draco and any other creatures that might be lurking around would hear her.

The evergreen shook under her weight, and she was quick to wind her long body around the trunk, her claws digging into the bark. With wide eyes, she took in the world from her height. The snow falling over the expanse of the woods, the green needles shining through the whiteness, the quietness of the wind and the clouds and the solitude.

It was glorious. 

A single breath filled the width of her chest, and Hermione found it hard to flap off the tree and return to the cottage. She had to get back before Draco found out she ever left. At least she wasn’t roaring fire uncontrollably. She was far more comfortable in her form than she’d been in the first shift.

Finding a small clearing close to the cottage, she landed and forced herself to transfigure back. Her head swam, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her scales shrank down, her muscles shrinking into her scraggly witch body. Hissing through her teeth, Hermione grabbed onto the bark of a tree to keep upright. Her wand was still in her hair, and she gripped it with what little strength she had. 

Snow was falling faster, now, clinging to her eyelashes in thick clumps. Pants soaked through, she let out a foggy huff of relief at the cottage only a few meters away. Her shoes squelched as she staggered up the steps and through the doorway. 

Draco wasn’t there yet, thank Merlin.

Shivering in her wet clothes, Hermione opened the cabinets, the closets, whatever compartment she could find. Draco’s robe was the only garment in the cottage, hung in the corner over the fire. Inhaling the scent of dungeons and parchment, she peeled off her wet clothes as quickly as she could, hung them to dry by the fire, and wrapped herself in the Slytherin robe.

The warmth of it reminded her just how exhausted she was. Shifting had taken more from her than she wanted to admit, but she had to stay awake. Who knew how long she’d pass out for if she didn’t keep alert.

She had just gotten beneath the quilt of the small cot when the door to the cottage opened, and Draco came stumbling in.

“Found a deer on the East side,” he said as he shut the door, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. Shutting the door, he stalked toward the fire. And froze. “Where’s my robe?”

Drawing on the last of her strength, Hermione tugged it tighter over her chest, feeling exposed. “My clothes got wet. It’s the only thing in this place.”

As if he’d been hit, Draco whipped his head away from the fire, a furious blush exploding over his face. Hermione glanced at the mantle and let out a soft laugh. She’d forgotten about the clothes and underwear she’d hung up.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, trying to hide the shakiness in her muscles when she stood. “You can take the quilt, I know you’re wet, too.”

She laughed again as he tugged the blanket around himself, his face still flushed. “Change out of those clothes before you get sick. I won’t peek.” As if to prove it, she turned around, crossing her arms to keep his robe from falling open.

Muttering curses, he obeyed her. She chewed on her thumbnail, listening to the rustle of fabric.

“So,” he sounded close to the fire, now, “you shifted again?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione clenched her fingers on her sleeves. “That easy to figure out, huh?” She scoffed. “Yeah, I went for a quick flight. Got used to my new form.”

He didn’t sound mad when he asked, “How was it?” On the contrary, his voice was laced with an undeniable curiosity.

“Pretty good. Didn’t eat any Aurors this time,” she said wryly. 

Draco tugged on her hood, and she took it as an okay to turn back around. 

She’d never laughed harder in her life.

The thickness of the quilt dwarfed his slim figure, and his hair stuck up in all directions. He scowled when she put a hand to her mouth, another hand at her aching ribs.

“Have a bit of fun, you stuck up  _ prick _ .” She slugged him in the shoulder, smiling broadly. 

Draco’s mouth twitched, despite his obvious efforts to keep his countenance blank. “You need to go to bed before you pass out.”

Placing a hand on her hip, Hermione cocked her head. “How am I supposed to sleep without a blanket?” she pointed out, flicking at the quilt draped over his shoulders. 

“Is this a ploy to get me to undress?” Draco lifted a coy eyebrow.

“Isn’t everything?” But she sat back down on the cot without any further comment. Her body was aching for rest, even if he  _ was  _ being a prick about it. 

Slumping onto her side, she clutched at the small pillow, curling until her entire body was wrapped around it. Bleary-eyed, she said, “Just so you know, I’m only doing this so I can spend less time talking to you and more time thinking about what we’re going to do next. Don’t forget - I’m the brains behind this operation.”

“Sure.” Her eyes were closed, but he sounded like he was smiling. “And what does that make me?”

“You can pick between ‘brawn’ and ‘eye candy’,” she murmured. 

Hermione fell asleep without hearing what he picked.

Death Eaters and fat Ministers usually plagued her dreams, but this time, there was a white wolf walking beside her. It snapped and growled at the other nightmares, keeping her safe. In her dream state, she couldn’t think of what it meant, or where it came from.

She’d forgotten all about the wolf by morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty sure canon!hermione would steal draco's robes for the sole purpose of annoying him.  
> i know i would.  
> ~ katie <3


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